Skin Deep (Part I, Part II Overlap Ch20-31)
by Rowena Zahnrei
Summary: Data wanted emotions his whole life, but can his programming adapt to handle the strain, or has he become a liability to Starfleet and his friends? Picard, Troi and Riker aim to find out during a horseback riding adventure that goes terribly awry. Why would alien raiders target an ancient stairway leading nowhere? What mysteries lurk in the ruins of Nineveh IV? Reviews Welcome! :)
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Trek: The Next Generation_. Please don't sue me or steal my story. Thanks! :)

NOTE: This story takes place shortly after the movie _First Contact_.

**Skin Deep**

**by Rowena Zahnrei**

Lt. Commander Data strode into Deanna Troi's office and slapped a padd down on her desk.

"Good morning, Data," the counselor said, looking up from her computer terminal. "We're not scheduled to meet today, but if you—"

"Are you aware that I am a threat to the Federation?" Data said, pushing the padd toward her. "Perhaps a greater threat even than the Borg? It says so, right here, in this opinion piece, published today in the _Federation Standard Times_. That, and a great deal more."

Troi's pleasant expression fell into a confused frown.

"Data…I'm afraid I don't understand…?"

Data snatched the padd back in frustration and pulled up a chair.

"This man, this Jake Sisko, blames me – me personally – both for the destruction of the _Enterprise-D_ and, more recently, for _allowing_ the Borg Queen to tamper with the timeline."

"Data, you know that's ridiculous," Deanna said. "No one person could possibly-"

"That is not what Sisko says!" Data interrupted, gesturing to the padd as if it were the offender in person. "According to him, my decision to install the emotion chip my father created for me makes me culpable for all the destruction that followed. He argues that installing that chip was the equivalent installing a fatal virus, a flaw or weakness that has since made me a dangerous and unstable element, and that the Federation would have been safer and better off if I had just stayed as I was: a machine that intellectualized its experiences instead of _feeling_ them!"

Deanna winced.

"Data," she tried, "you had every right to—"

"No, you are wrong, Counselor," Data said. "For, according to Sisko – who casts himself as an unerring authority because, as a child, he lost his mother in a Borg attack – as a Starfleet Officer, it is my responsibility to put the good of the Federation's citizens before my own selfish desires. I, therefore, had no right to expect time to adapt to the chip's emotional input, to come to grips with my new emotions, or to heal, emotionally, following my experience with the Borg Queen. If I wished to conduct cybernetic experiments on my positronic brain, I should first have resigned my commission."

"That is hardly a fair conclusion, Data," Deanna said.

"Is it not?" Data said. "It was my choice to install the chip – I did not have to do that. And, you must acknowledge, my situation has altered since. I have become as Sisko says: volatile. Unpredictable. Perhaps even dangerous. And the more integrated these emotions become, the more my programming adapts to handle all this complex, contradictory emotional input, the more I…"

"Yes?" Deanna leaned forward, her brow furrowed with concern. "Don't stop there, Data. What's really worrying you?"

"Never mind," Data said, and she actually _felt_ him deactivate his emotion chip. His expression smoothed out and his posture straightened as he rose to his feet. "I apologize for barging into your office, Counselor. If you will excuse me—"

"Oh no, you're not getting out of here so easily," Deanna said, pushing away from her desk and striding over to cut him off before he made it to the door. "I've felt this before in you…this terror you fight to hide away from me, from your friends, even from yourself. Now, this article has brought it to the surface. You know you can talk to me, Data. Tell me: what are you so afraid of?"

Data's calm golden eyes seemed offputtingly cold.

"If you do not move out of my way, I can move you."

Deanna felt a peculiar chill, but swallowed it back.

"But you won't," she said.

"What makes you so sure?" Data retorted. "I am stronger than you. Faster. You cannot stop me if I do not want to be stopped."

Deanna straightened.

"All right, do it," she said. "Make me get out of your way."

Data's eyes widened for a moment - just a moment - then he smoothly dodged around her and through the sliding doors.

"Data!" the counselor called after him as he marched down the corridor, noting the tension in his shoulders even though he had not switched his emotion chip back on. "You're not like him, Data. You never will be."

Data turned to face her as he entered the turbolift.

"I wish I could be as confident as you, Counselor," he said, and was gone.

Deanna returned to her desk and rubbed her arms, as if cold. She started to go back to her work, then sat back and tapped her communicator.

"Troi to Captain Picard," she said.

"Picard here," the captain answered.

"Captain, it's Data," she said, and sighed. "I think we have a problem."

_To Be Continued…_

_Like it? Hate it? Want more? Want me to delete this story and just go back to this huge stack of essays I have to read? Please review! :)_


	2. Chapter Two

Hi! Thank you so very, very much for your encouraging reviews! Here is the next chapter. I hope you like it! :)

**Chapter Two**

Captain Picard, Counselor Troi, and Commander Riker sat together around the coffee table in Picard's quarters. Troi cradled a mug of hot chocolate between her hands, as if warming them, but Riker's coffee and the captain's cup of Earl Grey sat steaming on their coasters, untouched.

"Are you sure you're not overreacting?" Riker said. "Data's had mood swings like this before. He's had plenty since he installed that chip of his, but his job performance has been consistently excellent."

"He has, yes, but not like this," Troi said, her eyes focused on her mug. "What I felt from him, in my office… It concerned me. And, as much as we all care about Data, as ship's counselor, I have to put the good of the crew first."

"Just what are you trying to tell us, Deanna?" Picard said, his deep concern evident in his use of her first name.

Troi sighed and looked up.

"I'm considering recommending Data take an extended leave of absence," she said grimly. "A year, perhaps. Maybe two. Now, Will," she held up a hand, "before you say anything, I want you to stop and think. These past few years have been a chaotic, uprooting time, and none of us have really had a break. I'm afraid the stress of enduring so many transitions so quickly has started to take its toll on Data. He needs some time, time to decompress, to reflect, to get to know himself – not as the efficient, dispassionate officer he used to be, but as the emotional being he has become. And I'm not sure he can do that with the pressures and obligations of his command position constantly hanging over him. He is Chief of Operations, the Second Officer of the _Enterprise-E. _ If he should suffer an emotional break…"

"I…I understand what you're saying, Counselor," Picard broke in, "and you may be right. Considering his outburst this morning and all you've told us here, there can be no doubt Data has reached yet another fragile point in his emotional development, and I would be willing to recommend he take some time for himself, away from his duties. If that's all this was. But, apart from any Starfleet repercussions, my concern is that Data would interpret your suggestion of a leave of absence as a rejection – a rejection that would only reinforce the accusations made by that ridiculous article. If he comes to believe that installing that damned chip has lost him the trust and respect of his colleagues, his _friends_… I fear we may lose him. Lose him to the same bitterness that twisted his brother, Lore."

Riker sipped his coffee, his eyes averted. Troi's expression hardened.

"Captain, Lore's legacy is one of the main reasons I think Data should get away from us and this ship and immerse himself in a different environment, different experiences," she said. "He has to learn he can be passionate and still be himself, still be Data, without the memory of Lore or our expectations getting in his way." Her grip tightened around her mug. "Since he installed that chip, there's not a session I've had with Data where I haven't wanted to curse Dr. Soong and his colossal narcissism for making both Lore and Data look and sound so exactly like him."

Riker fidgeted in his chair. "I have to admit, there have been times, seeing Data smile or hearing him laugh…I have been reminded of Lore," he said. "I'm sure Data's picked up on that, and not just from me. God," he shook his head. "I hadn't really considered it from his point of view before. Just my own embarrassment for feeling that way."

"It's not your fault, Will, or any of ours," Troi said, including the captain in her gaze. "Lore made it his business to taint Data's dream of sharing human feelings from the moment he opened his eyes on the _Enterprise-D_. Lore claimed he was more 'perfect' than Data, more 'human,' because he had the strong emotions Data believed he lacked. He impersonated Data to undermine our trust in him, to show him how easily human friendship could turn to suspicion and fear. The next time they met, Lore stole Data's emotion chip from Dr. Soong – making it his. Meaning if Data ever got it back, it would be second-hand goods. The feelings Data would feel, the memories Dr. Soong had given him, they would have been Lore's memories, Lore's feelings first. But, that wasn't enough. Lore later used that chip to brainwash and manipulate Data into harming his closest friends, tainting it further. Then, Lore attacked Data, forcing Data to fire at his own brother. He made sure that, if Data was to have emotions, he would first have to 'scavenge' them from Lore's dead body. Lore wrapped that chip up in so many layers of violence, cruelty, and pain it was years before Data was able to ready himself to finally claim it as his own. And what happened? As soon as he let himself go, the chip malfunctioned. Data was forced to watch as Geordi, his best friend, was kidnapped by a mad scientist and tortured by Klingons, then used as an instrument to destroy the _Enterprise-D_. Our ship. Our _home. _It took me months to help him stop blaming himself for that. Then, just as he was getting back on his feet, Data was kidnapped and tormented by the Borg Queen. The tactics he used to defeat her – deceit, manipulation – were not dissimilar from tactics Lore had used against him and against us, and Data later admitted to me, quite reluctantly, that he had derived satisfaction from being the instrument of her destruction."

Picard furrowed his brow, remembering that terrible day in Engineering, the look in Data's lone, remaining eye as he pulled the Borg Queen off his captain and into the dense cloud of corrosive gasses he had released from the ship's engines. Picard had seen the pale flesh melt from the Borg Queen's face, heard her horrific screams...

And, he knew Data's positronic brain had recorded every moment of her gruesome demise.

"All this has made Data afraid," Troi went on. "Afraid of himself, of the expressive, animated face he now sees in the mirror. It's Lore's face. Soong's face. Not his. Not Data's. And now, this article, coming at him from an outside source…it only intensifies the blame he's already piled on himself for installing that chip in the first place. It puts into sharp relief the uncomfortable fact that he is no longer who he was. The chip has changed him, altered his neural pathways, caused his brain to develop to the point where, even if he removed the chip now, today, it wouldn't make a difference. Data is acutely aware he will never again be the Data we used to know. And he's terrified of disappointing us."

"Hm," Riker said, running a thoughtful hand over his beard. "After we lost the _D_, didn't you put Data through a series of psychological tests…?"

"To ensure his continued fitness for duty, yes," Troi said.

"And his emotional age then…you pegged it somewhere between six and nine?"

She nodded. "I also said that was to be expected, given his limited experience handling emotional stimuli. His rational nature and exceptionally high intelligence have helped him cope, so far, but—"

"Yes, I read the report," Riker interrupted, "but didn't Starfleet evaluate him again, after his experience with the Borg?"

"They did, and he passed," she acknowledged. "I also gave him several tests, which pegged his current emotional age between fifteen and seventeen. That's remarkable developmental progress, given the short time frame, but I still—"

"Then that's it, isn't it?" Riker said, his expression beginning to brighten with something like amusement.

Picard regarded him. "Explain."

"Data's behavior," he said. "His moodiness, angry outbursts, all that sulking about the changes he's been going through lately. Don't you see? We've got a teenager on our hands!"

"It's not that simple, Will," Troi started, but Riker shook his head.

"No, that's it," Riker insisted. "You said yourself Data's brain is still developing, still growing. And, while he may have reached intellectual maturity long ago, emotionally, he's just a kid. A super-smart, highly self-critical, fifteen year old kid, caught between the childlike understanding of the human experience he used to have and the more shaded, adult world he's just started to enter."

"_Merde_," Picard muttered into his tea, and set his glass on the table. "You might have something there. But if it's true, how should we handle this? Data is not a child, and he is growing more perceptive by the day. Even if he is…emotionally, at least…a teenager, we cannot treat him as one. If he should think we've begun to patronize him…"

Troi pursed her lips.

"Data needs to feel that we accept him and like him for who he is now. He has to know he won't disappoint us by acting against type – that it's OK for him to smile and laugh and even get angry in front of us. But if he smiles, he has to see that it's Data smiling. If he loses his temper, it must be Data losing his temper, separate and apart from the shadow of Lore's cruelty. With this in mind, it is still my considered recommendation that Data take some time off."

Picard's eyes narrowed and he nodded slightly, as if he'd just come to an internal decision.

"Very well," he said. "The _Enterprise_ is nearly due for a maintenance check, and Geordi has been wanting to upgrade the dilithium chamber. I had planned to put it off for a few months, until we'd finished cataloging the Cochrane Nebula, but you've just convinced me a few weeks shore leave will improve efficiency all around, for ship and crew. Number One," he said to Riker, "have the helm set course for Starbase 74. I'll join you on the bridge in fifteen minutes."

"Very good, sir," Riker said, and strode out of the captain's quarters.

Troi turned her dark eyes toward Picard.

"Something more, Counselor?" the captain asked.

"You're looking forward to this leave time," the empath observed. "Do you have something special in mind?"

"Now that you mention it," he said, "I have been wanting to take a trip to Nineveh IV, explore the ancient city…perhaps acquire permission to volunteer at the new archaeological dig."

Troi smiled. "That sounds perfect," she said. "I'm sure you and Data will have a wonderful time."

Picard opened his mouth, then closed it and narrowed his eyes.

"Counselor…" he said warningly.

"You know if we dock at Starbase, Data will just stay in Engineering with Geordi. He hates to be alone, and he doesn't want to feel like he's intruding on others' fun. But, if you invite him to join your expedition…?"

"I see," Picard said, and sighed. "So, you want me to take our moody, teenage-minded android on a camping trip away from home, is that it?"

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but yes," she said through her smile. "If you won't approve an extended leave, then I think a 'camping trip' would do you both good. And, if you like, Will and I can join you. I'd like to be there to monitor Data and track his progress."

Picard seemed to consider.

"You know there are no ground vehicles allowed near the ruins," he said. "We'll have to do most of our traveling on horseback. And, this isn't a resort world. There'll be no hotels, no hot baths, no fresh food…"

"Sounds like a regular adventure," she said. "What do you say?"

Picard raised his eyebrows.

"You mean I have a choice?"

"Of course you do," Troi said innocently. "You're the captain. If you don't want us to come—"

"No, no, it's all right, Counselor," Picard said. "The four of us do usually go our separate ways on leave, don't we. It might be good to spend this time together, away from the ship."

"Great, then I'll tell Will," Troi said. "I'll leave it to you to invite Data. And, sir... If, at the end of this trip, Data's emotional state still concerns me-"

"Then I will consider supporting your recommendation for an extended leave of absence," Picard said. "Though, I hope it will not come to that. Starfleet does not tend to react kindly to emotionally unstable androids..."

_To Be Continued…_

_References include TNG: Datalore, Brothers, Descent I/II, 11001001, and the movies Generations and First Contact._


	3. Chapter Three

Update! You know, that scene from _Pen Pals _has always bothered me too - that's actually a big reason why there's a horseback riding trip in this story. :) Data's going to need a powerful horse, though, since he's so heavy. I really like Buck, the horse James Arness rode in _Gunsmoke. _He was a Buckskin gelding. But I think I'm leaning toward the horse Dan Blocker rode in _Bonanza_, Chub. I think he was part thoroughbred, but I'll have to do some research before I decide. I'm pretty sure Picard will have an Arabian similar to his holodeck horse. If you have any suggestions about the types of horses that would best suit Troi and Riker I'd be happy to incorperate them into the story! I live near a horse farm back home, and I've been on a riding trip in the desert near Las Vegas with my family (more inspiration for this story...), but I'm afraid I hardly know anything about horses.

Thanks so much for reading, and for your reviews! Here's:

**Chapter Three**

Engineering was humming with activity, but it was always that way, even when not preparing for extensive upgrades. Data strode through the bustle straight to Geordi's office, where the Chief Engineer sat busily tapping away at his console. Only, he didn't go in. He just stood there, his eyes averted, as if uncertain he should be there at all.

Geordi paused his tapping and started to turn—"Farrell, could you –oh!" he exclaimed. "Data! What's up?"

"Geordi…" Data said. "How do you know…if you are in trouble?"

Geordi furrowed his brow over the blue-irised optic implants that had replaced his VISOR some months before. The blind engineer had made the decision to undergo the operation to replace his eyes with cybernetic implants shortly after they had lost the _Enterprise-D_. Most people thought it was because Dr. Soran's tampering had damaged the VISOR, but Geordi had confessed a deeper reason to Data. Optic implants couldn't be snatched away like a VISOR…and he never wanted to feel that vulnerable again.

Data knew Geordi didn't blame him for the abuse he'd suffered on that Klingon ship, he had reassured the android of that on one hundred sixty three separate occasions since the incident. But, Data also knew Geordi would not have been kidnapped if Data hadn't talked his friend into installing that emotion chip in his positronic brain just a few hours earlier. To Data, Geordi's sudden decision to have the operation he had avoided for most of his adult life, and his subsequent altered appearance, were further reminders of how much gaining emotions had changed him, and his relationship with his friends and colleagues…for the worse.

"What do you mean 'in trouble?" Geordi asked the nervous android. "Have you done something, Data?"

Data seemed to shrug.

"I…got angry," he admitted. "In Counselor Troi's office."

"What, and you're afraid she'll tell the Captain?" Geordi asked, a trace of amusement creasing his lips. "This isn't high school, Data. You're not going to get sent to the principal's office for getting mad."

"This is not the first time I have lost my temper in her presence," he said. "But it was a rather…intense…episode. I am afraid she may think me…unstable…"

Geordi sighed and stood up, letting his friend see he had his attention. "Data, if this is about that article, you should know—"

"Picard to Commander Data," the captain's voice blared from his combadge. "Please report to my ready room."

Geordi couldn't be sure, but it looked like Data actually paled. His white-gold skin took on a grayish hue, and his whole expression tightened.

Slowly, the android tapped his combadge.

"Aye, sir," he replied, and his hand fell limply to his side.

"You're not in trouble, Data," Geordi tried to assure him. Data nodded.

"Thank you, Geordi. But I fear androids are not given the same amount of emotional leeway as organic humanoids. If I should be dismissed—"

"_Now_ you're overreacting," Geordi said. "Captain Picard is not going to fire you, no matter what you may have said to Counselor Troi. Everyone has the right to blow off some steam now and then, androids included. And I'll tell you right now, if someone had written an article like that about me, Counselor Troi's ears wouldn't be the only ones burning. I'd set the Federation's entire subspace network on fire! -Not literally, of course," he said in response to Data's wide-eyed expression.

"No," Data acknowledged. Then, he glanced at his friend, a touch of mischief glinting in his golden eyes. "But it would be satisfying, would it not?"

Geordi grinned and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "You're just fine, Data," he said. "Now, go see the Captain. For all you know, the lid's stuck on his fish tank and he wants you to help him pry it off."

Data chuckled a little and returned his friend's smile. "Thank you, Geordi," he said. "Your reassurances are very important to me."

"Get out of here before the Captain comes looking for you," the engineer said, and sank back into his chair. Data gave him another little nod, then turned on his heel and marched back to the turbolift.

* * *

Picard tapped a few flakes of fish food into the lionfish's tank and replaced the lid.

"Thank you, Mr. Data," he said and gestured for them both to return to their seats at his ready room desk. "I'm sure Livingston appreciates the thought. But I didn't ask you here about my fish."

Data tried to swallow a wince, but Picard caught it anyway.

"Is something wrong?"

"Wrong? No. No, sir. I am 'just fine.'"

"Good…" Picard said, regarding him a little more closely than the android liked. "Counselor Troi seems to think you could do with a rest. A change of scene, I believe is how she put it."

Data seemed stricken. "Please, sir," he said, "I do not wish to leave the _Enterprise…_"

"Yes, she told me you might feel that way," Picard said, to the android's deepening horror. "But I think she's right about this. It's no good for you to stay here on this ship while the rest of the bridge crew is on leave. That's why…"

"Sir...?"

Picard shook his head at him.

"Data, don't look at me like this is the end of the world. I understand you'd probably prefer to stay on board to help Geordi with the upgrades to the warp core. I'm just trying to invite you to join me on an archaeological expedition to Nineveh IV. If you agree, Commander Riker and Counselor Troi will be joining us."

Data blinked.

"You want me to join you, Commander Riker, and Counselor Troi on an archaeological expedition?" he repeated.

"If you're willing," Picard said.

"_Why?_" Data blurted, only to wince. "Sorry, sir..."

"No, I know we all usually go our own ways when leave time comes around, but Counselor Troi made a very good point a short while ago. We've all been through a great deal of turmoil these last few years. It's past time the four of us did something together, something fun, outside the bonds of rank and Starfleet formality."

Data looked a little overwhelmed, his golden eyes shooting back and forth as if he'd been asked to process the entire mythological reference base of the Children of Tama.

"You're free to say no, Data," Picard said. "But, you should know that if you do-"

"No…" Data said, his oddly gray expression beginning to brighten. "No, I mean, yes!" he said. "Yes, thank you, Captain. I would be honored to join your expedition. I am just…surprised. Nineveh IV…they use horses for transport, do they not?"

"Yes," Picard said. "As I was telling Counselor Troi, ground vehicles are not allowed—"

"Near the ruins, yes, I know," Data said thoughtfully. "I have never ridden horseback before. Do you think a horse would respond favorably to an android rider?"

"I don't see that it would make much difference," Picard said. "I'm actually more surprised at Counselor Troi. She once told me Betazoids don't go in much for riding. They get too involved with the 'passions of the beast.'"

Data nodded, his brow furrowed. He had a growing suspicion about the Counselor's role in all this, but he knew it would be best to keep any accusations to himself until he had a chance to collect more information.

"It will be a rough journey, Captain," he said. "Nineveh IV is known for its sandstorms, and there has been a recent spate of mild tectonic activity in the region of the ruins. The archaeologists have logged no reports of damage, but there is the possibility we may experience a quake."

"All the more reason to go now, while the ruins are still standing," Picard said, and smiled. "So, Data, are you up for this adventure?"

Data opened his mouth, but his building enthusiasm seemed to puncture just before he could speak.

"Captain…" he said awkwardly.

"What is it, Data?"

"Has Counselor Troi informed you—"

"About your reaction to that article in today's newsfeeds?" Picard shook his head. "Data, you mustn't let outside opinions erode your confidence. I know you've been going through some difficult transitions, that your emotion chip is affecting you in ways you probably never anticipated."

Data nodded a bit sullenly.

"But, for all the mistakes you may believe you've made since installing that chip, I know you've become a stronger person for it," Picard said, meeting his officer's eyes with firm sincerity. "I welcome this time to get more familiar with the man you have become. The man you are becoming. And I think it's time you get to know him too."

The overwhelmed look reappeared in Data's eyes and, for a moment, Picard was almost afraid the android would start crying. But he didn't. Instead, he stood.

"Thank you, Captain," he said again. "May I go make arrangements for my cat Spot to be cared for while I am away?"

"By all means, Mr. Data," Picard told him. "Just be sure to be in Shuttle Bay One at 0600 tomorrow morning."

"I will be there, Captain," Data said, and strode out of the room. Once in the turbolift, though, he leaned against the wall and sighed.

"The man I am becoming…" he repeated softly. "Fine words, Captain. But, I have never truly been a man. And I will never be like you. Any of you..."

_To Be Continued…_

_References include: TNG: Darmok; Pen Pals; and the movie Generations.  
_

_Reviews Welcome! :)_


	4. Chapter Four

Hi! Thank you so much for your reviews, and your suggestions! I thought long and hard about types of horses, their abilities, and their needs, and the ones I picked are the Arabian, Buckskin gelding, Paint, and Akhal-teke (which I'd never heard of but is really beautiful!) I considered the Clydesdale, but thought it might not be all that suited for a hot, sandy desert. So, thanks again everyone, and I really hope you enjoy this next part! :)

**Chapter Four**

"Is the wind going to be like this the whole trip?" Riker asked, holding up an arm to shield his eyes from the coarse, swirling sand that seemed to get absolutely everywhere. In his hair, in his boots, in his ears, up his nose…

"Here, wear these," Picard said, handing him a pair of overlarge, almost goggle-like sun-shades off the display tower in the battered supply tent. "They'll protect your eyes from the wind, sand, sun, and from drying out."

"Very stylish…" Riker muttered wryly. "Deanna, Data?" he called out. "Last chance to grab extra gear and supplies. We won't see another supply tent until we get to the first site."

Deanna ducked into the tent, looking thoroughly harassed as she twisted her loose, shoulder-length hair into a tight, efficient bun and secured it with an elaborate clip she dug out from her rucksack.

"Is the wind going to be like this the whole trip?" she asked.

Riker grinned and handed her a pair of shades.

"These should help," he said. "Hey, Data, you want a pair?"

"Thank you, sir," the android accepted, his stiff posture and composed bearing thoroughly regulation. Riker sighed.

"Never mind the wind, are _you_ going to be like this the whole trip?"

"Sir?"

"The way you've been acting all day! It's like you're a cadet on review. Loosen up a little! We're supposed to be having an adventure!"

"Is that an order, sir?"

"Does it have to be, Data?"

The android stared past Riker's shoulder for a beat, then smoothly slipped into an at-ease stance, his feet spread and his hands behind his back.

"Is this more acceptable, sir?"

Riker's expression grew grim, and he strode across the cluttered kiosk to Deanna.

"Do you know what this is all about?" he asked, gesturing to Data with his thumb.

"Data thinks I'm angry with him, and believes that he's only been invited on this trip as part of some ongoing psychological evaluation," Troi told him, though her eyes were on Data. "If we can't convince him that clamping down on his emotions is a surer way to a mandatory leave of absence than letting himself _be _himself, I'm afraid we're going to be stuck with The Perfect Starfleet Officer for the next two weeks."

"Urgh!" Riker gave a theatrical shudder. "Is there anything more annoying?"

His eyes slid over to Data, whose calm expression had soured into a scowl. Quite aware he was being watched, the android broke his perfect posture, shifting his hips and crossing his arms.

"I know you know that I can hear you," he stated.

"Then how about you come over here and join the conversation?" Riker said.

Data gave a world-weary sigh and stalked across the space as requested. Riker struggled to hold back a smirk. Drawing on the psychic bond he shared with Deanna, he projected to her: See? What did I tell you? Is that teenage behavior or what?

Deanna shot him a 'look,' along with a sharp Betazoidian sensation he knew meant 'hush up,' then turned a welcoming smile on Data.

"There, you see?" she said. "We don't bite, and we're not here to judge you on protocol and decorum. This is an opportunity to share some time together without Starfleet rank and discipline getting in the way. Here, we'll just be four friends, out to see the sights."

"Forgive me if I question your motives, Counselor," Data said flatly. "But since when have you been interested in the ancient Exo-Akkadian civilizations of Ninevah IV? Or chosen to spend your leave time riding horseback through harsh sun and sandstorms?"

"Did it ever occur to you that we might be doing this for the captain?" she retorted.

"No," Data replied. "Since he told me himself that it was _your_ idea for the three of us to accompany him on what was to have been a _solo_ expedition. _And_ that you proposed this idea only _after_ my outburst in your office."

Riker looked amused.

"Looks like he's got you there, Counselor," he said.

Troi pursed her lips. Data's expression hardened, but his golden eyes seemed vulnerable, even hurt, at her unspoken confirmation of his suspicions.

"Data," Riker said, "It's true. Maybe this planet, this expedition, isn't really to our taste – mine or Deanna's. But, maybe that's not the point."

"No. Perhaps the point is for three superior officers to observe how their emotionally volatile android subordinate responds to a radically different physical and social environment," Data snapped, drawing back from them. "I may be inexperienced when it comes to emotion and intuition, but I am not stupid. I intend to prove to you all, once and for all, that I am every bit as deserving of my post and position as I ever was, my emotion chip notwithstanding. If you will excuse me."

Data strode out of the tent in the direction of the stables. Riker raised an eyebrow at Troi.

"Well, that told him," he said.

"Oh, shut up," she retorted, then sighed. "He really is very sensitive, isn't he? Perceptive, too. The captain was right – we're going to have to be completely upfront with him about our concerns. Any beating around the bush he'll take as a criticism, or a sign we no longer trust him."

Riker nodded a little. "Funny thing is," he said, "he's always been that way hasn't he. Anxious…desperate to please, to _fit in_… And always so worried about his differences, his perceived shortcomings, holding him back like a tether that would only let him progress so far… You know, I don't think that emotion chip's really changed him at all. If anything, it's making him feel for himself what we already knew about him."

Troi averted her eyes, considering. "Perhaps…" she allowed. "But, my concern is that, if he keeps stifling his feelings, as he's been doing—"

"Ah, Troi, Will, I picked up some extra emergency rations and water packs," Picard announced, hefting his overstuffed rucksack over his shoulders and clipping the straps together across his chest and hips. "Along with some rope and a few other bits of gear we might find useful. Time to pick out our mounts. I must say, I've been looking forward to this. Where's Data?"

"He's gone to the stables ahead of us," Riker told him.

"Then, what are we standing around here for?" Picard said cheerfully. "Let's go see those horses!"

* * *

"Data, get back on your horse," Picard said for what felt like the fifteenth time since they'd set out. "All that sand down there can't be good for your systems."

"I do not mind the sand," Data replied, walking just ahead and to the left of the Buckskin gelding the stable manager had assigned to him. "And, I do not believe this horse likes me. Why could I not have taken the thoroughbred? She nuzzled my hand, and seemed most friendly."

"You know as well as I do, that horse was too young and too fine-boned to carry both you and your gear."

"I said I was willing to walk," Data protested. "As I am walking now."

"Data!" Picard sighed, and rested his hand on the neck of his sleek, white Arabian. "These horses are not pets. They are work animals. The Buckskin has the strength and endurance to be of practical use to this expedition. That skinny little filly was not for you. Now get back in that saddle and let the horse do its job."

"Commander Riker's Paint horse is quite sturdy. I could switch with him."

"Data, that's enough," Troi said, from the saddle of her slender Akhal-teke, a breed of horse originating from Turkmenistan. Its electric black coat seemed to shimmer blue and violet as it moved through the desert sun. "The stable manager knew what he was doing when he assigned us these horses. And I think your horse is reacting more to the attitude you have shown him than on any animosity he might feel toward you."

Data stopped walking and shot the Buckskin a suspicious look that was mostly masked by his sun-goggle shades. The tall horse stared back at him, as if daring the android to climb on its back.

"How do you see me, Sagebrush?" he asked the horse, keeping his voice low so Troi and the others couldn't hear as they moved on ahead. "Am I a strange machine to you, or just another rider?"

Slowly, Data reached out a pale hand. The horse stepped closer. Data closed the distance between them, letting the horse smell his right hand as he gently stroked its mane and neck with his left.

"Perhaps it _was_ me," he said, with some surprise. "You do not seem unfriendly after all. I apologize if my attitude offended you."

The horse snorted and nudged him, evoking a smile from the android.

"You wish to catch up with the others? Very well," he said, and climbed effortlessly up into the saddle. He took a moment to look around, marveling a little at the vast, arid landscape that stretched for miles in every direction – a landscape that seemed static and lifeless but was, in fact, in constant flux. The swirling winds blew the sand into rippling waves and arching mounds and gullies, molded by the rocky hills and distant mountains, while tiny sand lizards, insects, and arachnids sought the shade and shelter offered by small, hostile clumps of native cacti.

The trail they were following was well marked, but as he and his horse hurried to close the gap between them and the rest of the group, the android noticed something strange out of the corner of his eye. Three parallel lines, barely visible, appeared to veer off from the path, as if some force, stronger than the constant wind, had blown the sand into that pattern. Data accessed his memory banks, comparing those lines with any sort of natural or unnatural force, creature, or vehicle that could have left such marks, then blinked at the result.

"Sand speeders?" He frowned, and urged his horse to pass Troi and Riker and come up beside the captain.

"Captain," he said. "I saw something, back there." He gestured.

Picard turned his head, but saw only sand.

"What was it?" he asked.

"Three parallel marks in the sand, sir," the android reported. "They were quite shallow and all but eroded by the wind, but I believe they were left by three sand speeders, not more than thirty minutes ago."

"Sand speeders?" Picard repeated with a frown. "But all ground vehicles are banned on this planet. How could three sand speeders have slipped past the planetary security field?"

"I do not know," Data said. "But I thought it would be best to let you know what I saw. And to warn you that whoever is riding those speeders is likely to still be out there."

"Thank you, Data," Picard said. "You did the right thing. But, I don't think this is anything to get worried over. Those speeders could belong to anyone from wealthy thrill-seekers to local law enforcement."

Data nodded.

"Perhaps I did overreact…"

Picard regarded him.

"Did I say that, Data?"

Data blinked and considered.

"No."

"Then why do you automatically leap to the conclusion that you did something wrong?"

Data seemed to shrug.

"I do not know. Perhaps…I am projecting my own sense of…insecurity…to others? Anticipating a rejection before it can…hurt me. As I did with poor Sagebrush, here, who is not unfriendly at all. Just proud."

Picard smiled a little.

"You're a good man, Mr. Data," he said. "I'm waiting for you to start believing that again. Now, I want you to keep an eye out for those sand speeders," he said, speaking right over and past the android's puzzled look. "It'll be a few hours yet before we make camp. If we're to expect company, I don't want any surprises."

"Aye, sir," Data said, and fell back to the rear, where he could observe his companions and their surroundings without obstruction.

_To Be Continued…_

_Reviews are always welcome, and helpful! Thanks for reading! :)_


	5. Chapter Five

Update! A pretty long one too...hope you don't mind! Yep this story is meant to be a little out of character because they are in a different setting but also because the version of the crew we see in the episodes is markedly different from the version of the crew portrayed in the movies (and also because every story we authors create is by nature a bit AU). :) That's kind of why I've been playing with writing this story and _The Wild Men_ simultaneously. It's given me a chance to doodle around with two very different camping trips set at very different times in the characters' development: one right at the start of Season 1 and the other shortly after the _First Contact _movie. In the first one, Data's only just decided to consider himself a person. His rights as a sentient being haven't even been confirmed yet. In this one, he's in a such different place. He has almost everything he wanted starting out but, as Spock observed in _Amok Time, _"having is not so pleasing a thing, after all, as wanting. It is not logical, but it is often true." As a result, the chapter after this one will be a little weird. Just so you know. ;)

Hope you like this next bit!

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Riker winced, groaned, then gave a little, involuntary yelp of agony as he staggered bow-legged toward the campsite. Deanna wasn't in much better shape, but her unflappable dignity, ingrained in her psyche early on as befitted a member of the Fifth House and daughter of the heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed and the holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, compelled her to walk upright – at least, as upright as she could manage after a long, hot day in the saddle.

Picard tried to hide a smirk, but it showed up in his eyes anyway. Riker scowled at him and held his breath as he gingerly straddled a worn rock many travelers before him had recruited to serve as a lounge chair. Troi chose to remain standing, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. It was great to be able to stretch her legs and back, but her thighs and backside felt like they were on fire.

"Sore?" the captain asked innocently, handing each of them a silvery ration pack.

Riker took the pack, but shot the older man a very dirty look.

"How come you're not suffering with the rest of us?" he asked grimly, kneading the pack between his hands to start it heating up.

Picard chuffed a slight laugh.

"I invited you many times to come riding with me in the holodeck, Will," he said. "If you'd accepted, you might have built up some tolerance by now."

"Tolerance?" Riker said incredulously. "My backside feels like it's been rubbed raw by a wood sander!"

Troi winced in heartfelt sympathy, her discomfort redoubled by the waves of agony she sensed eminating from Riker.

"Well, I can suggest two things," Picard said, leaning back against the shallow cave entrance and drawing a very old looking bottle from his rucksack. "First, that you each take a good, long swig of this. It's an old riders' remedy. To help with the pain."

"Ah! Tennessee whiskey," Riker observed, accepting the bottle and squinting at the worn label. "Just the thing for the ailing cowboy."

"And second?" Troi asked, taking the bottle after Riker and making a face as the whiskey went down. Quickly, she passed it back to a highly amused Picard.

"Well, I picked up a tube of liniment at the supply tent," the captain offered. "Stings like the dickens, but does the job, as they say."

Troi and Riker groaned.

"Or, if you prefer a more modern approach, you could make use of the dermal regenerator in the emergency med kit. You'll find it in Data's saddlebag – just there."

He pointed to the pile of stuff Data had unloaded from the horses before walking them down to the little mountain spring to drink, then set about clearing sand from the ancient-looking fire pit and cracking heat sticks, which he stacked neatly in the center before they grew hot enough to glow.

When, after several busy minutes of unrolling sleeping gear and setting out more ration and water packs, he showed no inclination of leaving the cave to fetch the dermal regenerator, Riker turned pleading blue eyes to Troi.

"Oh, fine," she muttered, and set down her slowly warming ration pack. "I'll get it."

"I knew I could count on you, Imzadi!" Riker called as she limped away.

Picard couldn't be sure, it happened so fast, but he thought he glimpsed the Counselor's hand flashing a surprisingly rude Betazoid gesture at the smirking First Officer. He smiled a very small smile and kept working, humming to himself all the while.

* * *

Data decided he liked horses. He liked them very much. The graceful way they held themselves, the elegance of their movements. The way they walked alongside him so trustingly as he led them to the bubbling little spring, not far from the campsite. Yes, he even liked the way they smelled.

The stable manager had provided the group with grooming tools as well as some treats for their mounts. Once the horses finished drinking at the spring, Data offered them each a treat, delighting as they delicately nibbled the goodies from his hand. Then, he led them up a sandy slope to the shallow little stable of a cave the planetary authorities who maintained the trail kept stocked with fresh hay and several bags of oats.

"In you go," Data said, and entered the cave with them, pulling the swinging gate closed behind him. He removed their saddles and bridles, hung them on the appropriate pegs, then began brushing the horses down, getting them ready for the night after their long desert trek. As he ran the brush through their manes, gently untangling the snarls the wind had caused, the android found himself drifting into a pleasant daydream.

He was back in his quarters, a paintbrush in his hand. The horses he was tending filled his mind with shades and shapes of light and color and he saw himself blending the right tones of brown, tan and ebony on his palate, tracing out their four dynamic forms on his flat, static canvas, dabbing in shadows and highlights to represent their movement through the desert sun...

Before long, he was seized by a strange, absurdly powerful idea. An idea he suddenly knew he had to make real. Leaving the horses to their dinner, Data raced back to the area near the spring. He scouted around in the dimming twilight for a while, examining the rocks and the layered, colored strata of the cliff side.

Slowly, he began to smile.

"Hematite, ochre, manganese oxide…"

He crouched down, collected a few stones, and crushed them to powder in his palm.

"Perfect."

* * *

"So, what is this stuff?" Riker said, peering into the dark, steamy depths of his piping hot ration pack. "Smells like beef stew."

"It's beef bourguignon," Picard told him. "And there's dehydrated fruit salad for dessert."

"You mean those crunchy pink blocks with the yellow flecks?" Riker put on a wide, wry smile. "Sounds delicious."

"It's not so bad once it's been rehydrated," Picard noted. "Especially if you use whiskey in place of water."

Riker raised his eyebrows and shared a glance with Troi, both of them feeling much more chipper now the dermal regenerator had worked its essential repairs.

"Now that, I'm willing to try." He glanced over at the place they'd set for Data, the lonely ration pack and water sachet reflecting the orangey glow of the heat sticks. "How long does it take to water horses?" he asked.

"Not this long," Picard said, and frowned. "Data did mention he saw speeder tracks in the sand earlier today. You don't think he's run into any trouble, do you?"

"I don't sense that anything's wrong," Troi said. "But Data has been gone a long time. Do you think one of us should go looking for him, or should we give him a few more minutes?"

"I'll get him," Riker said. He set his ration pack down and climbed to his feet. "Don't either of you start eating without me."

* * *

It wasn't hard to locate Data's position. All Riker had to do was follow the singing.

A lilting tenor wafted from a little cave that had long ago been turned into a makeshift stable. Riker paused at the gate and just listened. He knew Data had been working to master the violin, along with several other instruments, but he'd never heard him sing before. At least, not like this…

_From this starship you now must be going_

_I will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile_

_We both know you are taking the starlight_

_That has brightened our pathways a while…_

The tune was soft and slow and bittersweet, and clearly not meant for any human audience. The horses seemed thoroughly charmed, standing still and calm, as if already asleep.

Riker could see Data was doing something as he sang, moving his pale hands against the smooth wind and sand-eroded stone, but in the dimness he couldn't make out any details.

_Come and sit by my side if you love me_

_Do not hasten to bid me adieu_

_Know I always will treasure your memories_

_And that my love will always be true._

The song ended like a mournful sigh, and Data stepped back from his work, his head slightly tilted. Riker opened the gate and stepped inside the cave, moving slowly until he stood beside him.

"Data—" he started, but the android jumped as if Riker had just jabbed him with a live wire. "Data, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you!"

"Commander!" Data gasped, his golden eyes blinking rapidly. "No, it is I who should apologize. I did not hear you come in. I believe I was…preoccupied…"

"That's understandable," Riker said and stared at the cave wall. "Data…did you do this?"

A deceptively primitive wall mural stared back at him, done in the style of the Paleolithic art found in the _Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc_ Cave in southern France. Four horses, clearly modeled on their four mounts, stood in profile, one in front of the other, from largest to smallest. They burst from a striking field of ghostly handprints, like the ones that gave Argentina's _Cueva de las Manos_ its eerie name.

"I did," Data asserted, and showed the commander his reddish orange and black-smudged hands.

Riker nodded slowly, still taking it all in.

"It's…amazing, Data. Honestly. But…the authorities on this planet… I'm sure you're aware they have some very stiff rules regarding the…defacement…of their natural landmarks."

Data's expression seemed to freeze, the dreamy distance in his eyes momentarily replaced by something far more delicate. Before Riker could place it, that expression, too, had flattened out and vanished.

"This is not a natural landmark," the android stated. "It is a stable. A heavily used stable, at that. And what I did is not _defacement._ It is art."

"You say it's art and I agree – _that_ is most definitely art," Riker said, his eyes still fixed on the powerful, haunting work. "But Data, the fact is, you didn't have permission to make that. If a Ninevehan Ranger should spot this mural, he might not see what you and I see. He might see graffiti."

Data stared straight at Riker, his golden eyes as hard as chips of amber.

"I will not remove it."

Riker closed his eyes and sighed.

"Data, do you really want me to bring the captain into this?"

"Do what you must," Data said. "I will do the same."

Riker frowned.

"Now, what does that mean?"

"It means, _sir_," Data said, "that I am quite aware of the laws governing Nineveh IV. I am certainly more familiar with them than you are. These caves are maintained by the Rangers, but fall under the public use clause applying to offworlders. To create this piece, I did not gouge or carve or in any other way alter the contours or affect the stability of this cave. All I did was apply a fine layer of naturally occurring pigments native to this location to the cave's interior surface – pigments that, given time, will naturally fade and erode along with the cave wall itself. Even if my work were to be deemed 'graffiti,' as you say, and it was decided I should be charged as an offender, the stiffest penalty I could anticipate would be a fine of no more than half a bar of gold pressed latium."

Riker's thoughtful frown deepened, but before he could say anything, Data turned on his heel and walked out, calling over his shoulder, "I am not a fool, Commander and, although I did create this work on impulse, I did not do it without considering the consequences. If you still want it removed, you are welcome to do it yourself. Just do not expect me to watch."

"Data!" Riker called after him, but the android was already gone. The commander pursed his lips in frustration, and glared up at the mural. Despite the deliberately primitive style, in the deepening shadows those horses seemed almost alive. Riker shivered despite himself and strode out of the cave, making sure the gate was closed fast behind him.

* * *

Riker was greeted by a sullen golden glower when he returned to the warm, bright cave where he and the rest of the group would be spending the night. Troi and Picard looked both puzzled and concerned, but it appeared that the android hadn't spoken a word to either of them.

"Don't worry, Data," Riker said as he resumed his place on his comfortable rock. "I didn't touch your painting."

Data's expression didn't shift, but Troi and Picard seemed enlightened.

"So, that's what you've been doing," Troi said. "Well, we'll have to see this painting. Where is it?"

"Down in the stable," Riker said. "But don't bother going now. It's getting too dark to see and, trust me, a palmlight won't do this thing justice."

"In the morning, then," Troi said, and patted Data's knee. "I'll look forward to seeing your work."

Data scooted out of range of her touch.

"That is not necessary, Counselor," he said, his eyes fixed on the heat sticks. "The commander was right. It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do, defacing the cave wall like that. I will remove the offending pigments at the soonest opportunity."

Riker straightened.

"Don't you dare put those words in my mouth," he said, and glared. "I don't understand you lately, Data. How can you go from defending your work so passionately back in that cave to downtalking it like this?"

"Perhaps, I have had a chance to view it from an outside perspective," Data mumbled into his drawn up knees. "As a result, the emotional context of the work has...changed…"

"What are you talking about?" Riker demanded.

"Please, leave me alone," Data muttered, hunching into an even tighter ball.

"Come on, Data, don't be like this," Troi said. "Don't retreat into yourself. We're your friends. You can talk to us."

"Unless that is an order, I really would rather not," Data said, and buried his face in his arms. "Why did I do this to myself…? Why, why, why…?"

Picard took a meditative sip from his cup of rehydrated whiskey fruit punch, then tore open his ration packet.

"Ah, smell those herbs. There really is nothing like a good beef bourguignon. And this is certainly nothing like a good beef bourguignon." He grinned at his little quip. "All right, everyone, dig in."

Riker and Troi cast a last look on the despondent android and his untouched rations, then followed the captain's example. Before long, the three officers were laughing and chatting over their dinner, enjoying the warmth of the cave and the pleasure of each other's company.

Slowly, very slowly, Data raised his head and propped his chin on his arms, just watching. When no one seemed to notice, he slowly, slowly shifted into a cross-legged posture and inched, ever so slightly, closer to the group.

When, still, no one paid him any attention, he took in a deep breath and spoke over the banter: "It is fear."

The others stopped their conversation and stared straight at him, as if he were a rogue ball player pitching into the stands from two fields over.

"Do go on, Commander," Picard invited.

Data shrugged a little and started using his orange-and-black stained finger to draw abstract swirling designs in the sand beside him.

"I started to tell the Counselor, that day in her office, but I stopped myself...out of fear," he said. "This emotion chip has changed me more than any of you realize. More than I have allowed myself to show. The Counselor was right, I do not wish to disappoint you and I am greatly disturbed by the precedent set by my brother, Lore. Yet, I cannot deny that fundamental alterations have occurred…and there is no going back. These emotions are an integrated part of me now, whether I remove the chip or not."

"Is that what you find frightening, Data?" Troi asked gently. "That you can't go back to who you used to be?"

Data chuffed a dry laugh and shook his head.

"You really have no idea, do you," he said. "But, perhaps that is also my fault. I have been…hiding…for so long… How can I expect any of you to understand?"

"Perhaps if you explained?" Picard prompted.

Data glanced at him, as if debating. Then he sighed and went back to his absent doodles.

"You know," he said, "when we were on the _D_, I used to think…this is it. I am finally where I always wanted to be. My career had advanced further than I had ever dreamed possible, and I had friends, real friends: friends who encouraged me to learn and explore and try new things. For a while…a brief while…I truly believed I would make it, that one day humanity would greet me with the same unthinking acceptance it granted the naturally born members of its kind. And then, I installed this chip…" He swallowed hard and dashed his intricate doodles back to sandy smithereens. "And everything I thought I knew became so hollow…"

"Data, you mustn't think like that," Troi said. "You're going through a difficult transition right now. In a few months—"

"No, that is not it, that is not what I am saying!" Data cried. "You do not see it. You do not see it because it never, never happens to you! Those brief shudders, the second glances and embarrassed, awkward looks. The ones I get _every day_, whenever I pass behind a young ensign at the science stations, or reach over an engineer's console to make a correction. I _scare_ people, Counselor. My proximity triggers a primal fear they cannot hide, and which I can no longer simply ignore."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his face contorting like a man struggling to hold back tears. When he spoke again, though, his voice was low and clear.

"Living on the _D _was like being in a bubble," he said. "A big, soft, cushiony bubble where I could believe I was making progress toward a goal I now know to be entirely unattainable. No, do not interrupt, just listen," he said to Troi. "Not one new transfer to the _Enterprise-E _has yet viewed me as just another humanoid officer…the way Geordi and Tasha and you, sir," he nodded to Picard, "did when we first met. And while the officers I have had to meet with and train since our incident with the Borg know of my reputation and my more 'inhuman' specifications, they have yet to accept me as a colleague, let alone a friend. They view me as a machine, a curiosity, something strange and unnatural, intimidating and a little bit creepy. And although this is nothing new, although I have been dealing with such attitudes all my life, striving to fit in and to behave as correctly as I knew how, I know now that it will not stop. No matter what I do, how far I progress, how much I achieve… These parochial human arrogances will never change, or go away. And, I must admit, surviving the Borg Queen's cruel abuses has only made me more intolerant of this type of behavior. Since our return home, I have found myself increasingly unwilling to allow these humans the time they need to become…acclimated…to my android nature. That damned article just brought the whole thing to a head. If you want to know the bare-bones, God's-honest truth: I am heartily sick of the whole ridiculous hassle and _I do not want to take it anymore!_"

He took in a deep, ragged breath, his nostrils flaring slightly as he struggled to reign in his anger.

"I am _not_ human and I will _never_ be human and I never truly wanted to _be_ a flesh-and-blood human being," he stated with deep conviction. "I am an android, and I _want_ to be an android. In fact, I even _like_ being an android. But I do not like to be feared. And I do _not_ like the frustrated, angry feelings that fume so deep inside me when I see that fear in others. _That_ is what frightens me, Counselor," he said, staring straight at her. "_That_ is the terror I try so hard to keep hidden. Lore's words have become clear to me. I _do_, finally, understand my 'evil' brother, and all he tried to teach me about human bigory, prejudice, and betrayal. But I cannot forgive him, as he wished. For, he gave in to those frustrations, those angry, bitter thoughts. I will not. I will _not._"

Data clenched his fists and pressed them to his mouth, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he lowered his chin to his chest.

Riker, Troi, and Picard shared a long, deep look.

"It's true, Data," Picard said grimly. "Dealing with the Borg, the Cardassians, the Maquis, the rise of the Dominion… We have been forced to watch as the times changed around us, and not for the better. In many ways, humanity has become less open-minded as a result of the recent trials it has been forced to endure. It's unfortunate, and inherently unfair, that the suspicions and insular attitudes that lurk in the minds of many of our new crewmates have extended to include you. I could say the pendulum will one day begin its return swing and we'll once again see a future shaped by tolerance and curiosity, unhindered by fear of the different and the unknown. But that's a mere platitude, and you deserve better."

Data sniffled into his arms, his chest hitching with sobs.

"I am…so sorry," he choked. "I am a hateful being… I have been so…so very angry…"

"No, no, it's all right, Data," Troi soothed. "The Captain's right. You do deserve better. And we should have been more aware of what you've been going through. You were right to feel angry. If I'd known this was going on, I'd be angry too. And so would the captain and Commander Riker."

Data glanced up, his golden eyes oddly puffy from crying.

"Lore hated humans," he said. "He delighted in their fear, and in watching that fear turn to hatred. I do not want to be like that. I do not want to hate. But…but sometimes, I get so frustrated that I…I…"

"That you want to scream?" Riker offered. "Rant and rage and break things?"

Data blinked at him.

"Yes."

Riker smiled.

"Then, Data, I guess you really are human after all. I can't tell you how often I've felt like that. We all have." He gestured to Picard and Troi.

Data stared blankly for a moment, then shook his head.

"So strange..." he said. "I believed for so long that gaining emotional awareness would be the key to achieving humanity. Yet, I have never felt more like a machine than I have since the installation of my emotion chip. It is as if the more convincingly human I act, the more my internal differences seem to matter to the people I meet...and the more distant they behave toward me. This, of course, does not apply to you, or to any of the friends I made aboard the _Enterprise-D_. But - and I mean no offense - we will not be together forever. And...I dread the thought of a time when I will be left alone. I do not want to be human, Commander. I just… I want…."

He stopped and sighed, a look of anxious desperation creeping into his eyes.

"Who am I?" he asked plaintively, looking to each of them in turn. "I mean it. What the hell am I? What do you want me to be?"

Troi offered him a genuinely sympathetic smile.

"You are Lt. Commander Data," she said. "Starfleet hero and my personal friend. Any more than that, you're going to have to work out for yourself."

Data released a ferocious sigh and fell back until he was lying like a starfish on the cave's sandy floor.

"Thanks a lot," he muttered.

Riker laughed out loud and tossed him a silvery rations packet. Data lifted his left arm straight up to catch it, and squinted at the print near the top.

"Fruit salad?" he queried from the floor.

"Yeah," Riker said. "Something the captain thought up. Mix that packet in a cup with some Tennessee whiskey. It'll perk you right up."

Data let his arm flop back to the sand, still holding the packet.

"Commander, need I remind you that alcohol has no effect on me."

"I'm not talking physically, I'm talking mentally," Riker said. "Mix the stuff with water if you don't want any whiskey. Just sit up and have a drink with us."

Data frowned a little, but he sat up and moved closer to the group.

"That's the way," Riker praised, and handed him a little plastic cup. "So, what'll it be, water or whiskey?"

"Water, please," Data said. "And just water. I…do not like rehydrated fruit salad."

"Then, that's something we have in common, my friend," Riker said, and grinned. "I can't stand the stuff either."

Soon all four of their cups were full, and Picard raised his in a toast.

"To the adventure ahead," he said, and the four of them drank. "We should reach the first archaeological site late tomorrow afternoon. You're going to love it, I know. In archaeology, there are few sights more impressive than the Stairway of Sawrina the Great."

"I look forward to it!" Troi said, and raised her cup for another toast. "This one's for Data," she said, and smiled at the android. "For being brave enough to show us his true face."

Data raised his cup with the others, but he didn't return their grins. The fact was, he hadn't shown them his true face. Only one person had ever seen him as he truly was, had pierced straight through the trappings of his imitated, synthesized humanity…and that one person had been an abusive, manipulative, controlling Borg monster he himself had helped to kill.

It made him wonder…

What would happen? Could he do it? Should he do it?

Was he really brave enough to reveal his inner self?

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References include: First Contact (movie); the novel Metamorphosis; Brothers; Hide and Q; The Ensigns of Command; In Theory; Silicon Avatar; The Offspring; Menage a Troi; Manhunt; Half A Life; Inheritance (in which Data tells his mother he is attempting to master all known styles of painting); The Red River Valley (song) composed circa 1870 (which I modified for this story); the Army food my Dad let me try when I was little (especially the weird, Styrofoam-like squares of dehydrated fruit salad!); and the CD Ol' Yellow Eyes Is Back (1991).  
_

_P.S.: The cave drawings I mentioned are real, and I adapted a picture of the Paleolithic horse painting for this story's cover. I added some yellow hand prints and a picture of Asimov's Positronic Man. :)  
_

_Until next time, thanks for reading! Your reviews are always welcome and appreciated! :)_


	6. Chapter Six

Update! Gotta get back to my school writing now...probably for the next few weeks...but I really hope you like this next part! :)

* * *

**Chapter Six**

_Main Engineering sweltered at a steamy 39.1 degrees Celsius, the warp core pulsing mere meters behind his head like a warm, beating heart. Strapped to the converted lab table, helpless and alone, he closed his eyes and fought to keep his breathing steady as he had been taught: In through your nose, Data, out through your mouth…_

The objective is close, _he thought. _So close… Stay calm, and you will make it. Do not show her that you are afraid…

_Data listened to the engines hum, concentrating on the familiar sound, the thrumming vibrations that ran through him, the table, the entire ship… _

_A mechanical click, a whir, and the peculiar Borg incubator lifted from his arm. The air in Engineering was hot and damp, but one small, exposed patch of his arm felt oddly cool… He tried to access his diagnostics, but that patch remained blank to his internal sensors. The only information he received was that strange sense of coolness which was already fading after the searing warmth of the incubator…and a peculiar, alien pulsing…_

_He turned his head to look._

What has she done…?

_The Borg had removed a rectangular patch of his white-gold synthoskin from the underside of his forearm, and in its place…_

_Skin. Living, organic, _human_ skin, warm and pink, fed by tubes and patched directly into his sensory mesh…_

_"Do you know what this is, Data?"_

_The Borg Queen's sultry voice pulled him out of his thoughts and he swallowed, his internal systems swamped with a terrible blend of horror and fascination. _

_"It would appear you are attempting to graft organic skin onto my endoskeletal structure…"_

_Data couldn't understand how she'd done it. This should not be possible…organic flesh was inherently incompatible with his android systems, the circuits in his sensory mesh should not be able to translate organic nerve impulses, let alone carry them to his brain. He felt shaken, violated. _

_And yet…_

_"What a cold description…for such a beautiful gift…"_

_The lithe Borg woman leaned over him, her black, machine eyes seductive as she pursed her lips and blew. The gentle touch of her breath made the hairs on his new skin stand on end, and he gasped at the sensation, startled by his body's response as he felt the goosebumps form._

_For a moment, a brief 0.68 seconds, Data found himself awash in a powerful daydream, picturing what his days might be like enrobed in warm, sensitive, living skin. Feeling the breeze of another being passing him in the corridor or on the bridge; snuggling his cheek against Spot's soft, silky fur… His traitor mind took him still further, to places he hadn't dared venture since installing his emotion chip. To dreams of a child…a wife… Sharing the love of a family unit; the longing to touch, to _be_ touched, and to really _feel_ it…_

_The Borg Queen watched the shudder wrack through him, heard his breath hitch involuntarily, and her smooth, pale face grew smug with victory._

_"Was that good for you…?"_

* * *

Deanna Troi sat up with a gasp and kicked her way out of her sleeping bag, her heart hammering in her chest.

"What…what was that…?" she whispered breathlessly, her hand pressed to her temple. She had sensed nightmares before, picked up on the more intense imagery from others' dreams, but…Data? How…?

She peered around the cave, squinting through the shadows cast by the fading heat sticks as her eyes picked out the sleeping forms of Will, the captain…

And the empty, crumpled heap of Data's sleeping bag.

With slow, careful movements, Deanna got up, found her boots, and tiptoed from the cave. The planet's twin moons shone dimly overhead, washing the desert in their eerie, orange light. It wasn't much, but it was enough to see fresh footprints in the sand, heading toward the stable.

She followed, but the footprints continued past the slumbering horses toward a rocky outcropping. Soon, she heard the gentle burble of flowing water, accompanied by the low murmur of a man humming very softly to himself.

"Data?" she said, sensing his familiar emotional presence even if she couldn't pick out his form in the dark.

The humming stopped, and a figure rose from the shadows. Deanna started to smile, until she realized she still couldn't see Data's pale face and hands. Instead, the moonlight revealed a slender, silvery shape; a humanoid form traced against the darkness in tiny pinpricks of blinking colored lights.

"Hello, Counselor," the android said. "What brings you out here at this hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said, moving cautiously closer. "Data… What are you doing?"

"I have decided to act on your suggestion, Counselor," he said, his golden eyes seeming vulnerable but, also, slightly amused. "No more hiding or playacting for this trip. Tomorrow, I intend to show my true face."

"Your…? Oh no. Oh, Data, you must know… When I said that, I didn't mean…!"

She trailed off, staring openly at the exposed metal and plastic of his machine skull, amazed by the expressiveness of his intricate, even artistic, sculpture of a face. His nose and ears, his eyelids, his lips…they were all still there, still recognizable even, but seeing them like this… It felt strangely unreal, as if she was staring at a museum display. Not a friend she'd known and cared about for years…

"Are you upset with me?" he asked. "That I decided to take your words so…literally?"

Deanna frowned at him.

"Decided…? Then, you were thinking about doing this…even before…?"

He tilted his head, uncertain of her meaning.

"Before what?" he asked.

"Before your nightmare?" Deanna finished softly. "About the Borg Queen?"

Data's eyes widened and he stepped back, moving slightly deeper into the shadows.

"How did you know about that?"

Deanna shifted her feet uncomfortably, then sat down on a protruding rock, indicating he should join her. After a moment's hesitation, he did, staring in curiosity as she reached for his blinking, metallic hand and pressed it between hers.

"I'm afraid I picked up on it," she told him, "while I was asleep. Not the dream itself, but...brief images...the fear... It left a very…powerful…impression."

Data looked amusingly astonished.

"Really?"

She chucked a little and patted his hand.

"Yes, Data," she said, but her expression soon grew somber. "You told me before that she'd tempted you. That she'd tried to seduce you. But I'm afraid I may not have fully understood what she did to you…or what it took for you to resist her…until now."

Data smiled, ever so slightly, and gave her fingers a light squeeze.

"If you sensed what I...felt...in that dream, then you know how…alluring…I found her offer," he admitted. "But her promise was an empty one. My course was already set."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He released her hand and stared off into the desert, his golden eyes dim and distant.

"May I be very honest with you, Counselor?" he asked.

"Of course, Data," she said. "You know you can tell me anything."

He regarded her for a long, contemplative moment, the blinking diodes inset in his skull casting colored patterns and shadows on the smooth contours of his pensive, metallic face.

"Very well," he said, confirming his decision. "I will answer your question. Even if it means that, by the end, you may no longer wish to be my friend."

"Oh, Data…" She sighed and shook her head at him, but gestured for him to continue. The android closed his eyes and took in a few slow, calming breaths, then began to speak.

"When the Borg captured me and dragged me into Engineering, I was concerned, of course, but a part of me was also relieved," he said. "By taking me into their lion's den, as it were, they had brought me closer to my objective – the objective of our attempted assault on the Borg hive. Although they did not know it, the Borg held me mere meters from the tanks containing the corrosive gasses I fully intended to use against them…if I could only find a way to get free. This objective remained at the forefront of my mind throughout my captivity, and affected every aspect of my communication with the Borg Queen."

"Sounds pretty logical to me," Deanna said.

Data snorted a little.

"Perhaps," he said quietly. "Perhaps the whole encounter might have remained a logical exercise…a matter of prolonged intellectual banter as I worked to find a way to shut down their attempted takeover from within. It might have…if the Borg had not found a way to remotely activate my emotion chip. Once it was active...the terror of my situation threatened to overtake my more rational intellect. I feared their Queen could hurt me, really _hurt_ me…and I soon discovered that I could hurt her back…"

Data leaned his shoulders against the cliff side and crossed his legs in front of him. It was only then Deanna realized the android was wearing black Starfleet issue pajamas over his metallic frame…a strangely incongruous, and rather endearing, sight. But, this wasn't the time to comment. Data needed her to stay focused and to listen, and that's just what she would do.

"The Borg Queen could not access my thoughts," he told her. "She found my emotion chip, learned to turn it on and off, but she could not reach _me,_ access my essential sense of _self. _That frustrated her no end. But, like all Borg, she was adaptive. She quickly found other ways to try to bend my will toward accepting hers, experimenting with different means of seduction. But, the Borg _take_, the Borg _assimilate_, the Borg _control_. It is not in their nature to inveigle and bargain...to love…or even to lie."

He sighed and shook his head.

"I fear _that,_ in the end, was her weakness. Her clumsy inexperience with deceit…and her complete ignorance of the fundamental nature of social bonds. For all her experimentation, she never once hit upon the essential ingredient that means the difference between successful emotional manipulation, and mere physical temptation. Something I learned…long ago…"

Troi wrinkled her forehead.

"Lore?" she asked.

"Yes," he confirmed grimly. "But also…Ishara Yar."

"Tasha's sister?" Troi said. "I remember her. You two became quite close while she was aboard the _Enterprise_."

"That is true…"

His voice was a pained whisper, but she sensed it as an old wound, more of an ache than a cut.

"She deceived me from the start," he said. "Played on my memories of Tasha to gain my trust, my friendship, even my affection, manipulating me at every step until I had unwittingly secured for her what she had wanted all along: access to her rival gang's security grid. When I tried to intervene, she did not hesitate to fire at both Commander Riker and myself, her phaser set to kill."

Data snorted darkly through his nose, his expression wry.

"I had never been…betrayed…like that before," he said. "Never by someone I had come to trust, as I had trusted her. Her actions, and my responses to her… They puzzled me for the longest time. I believe my experience with her set my social development back quite a bit…particularly when it came to attempting romantic relationships. But now…now I understand. I understand because I have been in her place, and I have done as she once did."

He looked up at the moons, his expression etched with sadness.

"Deceit," he said. "Like love and friendship, deceit requires trust to be effective. I did not trust the Borg Queen. Not for one fraction of a second. But I convinced her to trust me. That is how I gained access to those tanks, and how I became the means of her destruction and the destruction of all the other Borg aboard the ship. Like my brother, like Ishara, I consciously exploited her candid, mechanical nature, feeding her trust until I could turn it against her. I have found myself struggling with that ethical quandary ever since."

He looked straight at her, his golden eyes deep and intense.

"I know…in my head and in my heart…that the actions I took were correct. I did my duty as a Starfleet Officer, put the good of the ship, and the timeline, before all other concerns, and rid the Federation of a mortal threat. I would do it again. But, I cannot ignore the fact that in the process I willfully, and premeditatively, caused the death of other beings – beings that, once separated from the Borg Queen's influence, may have rediscovered individuality, as Hugh did, or even recovered their former identities, as I once helped Captain Picard to do. And I cannot deny that I derived satisfaction, even a sense of vindication, from watching the Borg Queen die."

"Vindication?" Troi asked.

"The Borg Queen's attempts to physically seduce me were predicated on her assumption that I was an inferior lifeform, a callow innocent beguiled by the trappings of humanity," he said, his eyes averted once again. "An ignorant attitude, perhaps, but not entirely unfamiliar. The Romulans once harbored a similar impression of me...and many humans still do. But with her, it was all so much more _personal."_

He clenched his fists tight in his lap, then watched his fingers slowly relax.

"Recognizing her misapprehension of me as a weakness, I took her cue and played it up," he said. "I prattled to her as I used to do when I was young, staged an escape attempt to encourage her to drop her guard. And, when she kissed me and whispered to me of all the physical delights I could enjoy once she had completely replaced my synthetic covering with organic skin…I realized I nearly had her duped. A little patience, a few pointed acts of false loyalty, and she _gave_ me the freedom I required, accepting me as her willing counterpart without a second thought. When I was finally able to watch her face as she realized her plans had failed, that _I_ had tipped the scales against her...it was almost...enjoyable... Do you see now, Counselor?" he said, leaning toward her, his expression fierce with desperation. "Do you understand? Our roles had changed. _She_ had become the trusting fool, _I_ the deceitful manipulator. I had not anticipated that, or the rage she provoked in me. Nor had I expected the pain…"

"What do you mean...pain?"

Data closed his eyes, his shoulders seeming to stoop in the dimness.

"The Borg Queen's skin grafts made me feel as if I had been living my entire life under the numbing influence of Novocain," he whispered. "Suddenly, my senses were awake, alive…and it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. I was…injured…during my escape attempt. A Borg drone sliced into the newly grafted flesh on my arm and I…I felt _pain_, real pain, I saw my own red blood seeping from the wound… It was the closest I have ever come to being human and it hurt, yes it hurt, but I did not want to lose those sensations even so. I still am not entirely certain what was worse: _feeling_ the gasses melt the organic skin and eye the Borg Queen had given me…or the knowledge that losing them meant I would have to return to my previous numbed, synthetic existence. I wonder, perhaps, if it is not the latter."

"Data…"

"I fear, Counselor, that I am not the man I hoped I would become back when I really was the callow innocent the Borg Queen mistook me for," he said grimly. "I have lied and I have killed and I have betrayed cybernetic lifeforms like myself while defending a human society that does not fully appreciate my sentience, and which fears my very being. My actions and thoughts concern me. My memories of the Borg Queen repulse me, and I do not mourn her death. Yet, I feel that, in defeating her, I have lost something too, something fundamental. If I am no longer the innocent, trusting Data I was when I first signed aboard the _Enterprise_, if I have become capable of deliberate acts of manipulation, deceit, and revenge…what does that _make_ me? Are _these_ the lessons I absorbed in my quest to become more human?"

Deanna gazed at him and shook her head, just marveling at this wondrous mechanical lifeform staring at her with such pleading golden eyes. For so many years, she'd been unsure what to make of him. Before the chip had given him direct access to his emotions, he had existed only at the periphery of her metaconscious mind, a peculiar blind spot in her empathic awareness. But now…

Now she _felt_ the confusion raging in his being, the passions and desires and longings she knew had always been a part of him, but which neither of them had previously been able to adequately acknowledge or explore. She _sensed_ his essential _Data-ness_ beaming at her like a beacon, and she almost laughed at its awkward, self-conscious beauty.

"Oh, Data... If only you could see what I see," she said, and offered him a smile. "I want you to try something with me."

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a thought exercise," she told him. "We'll do it together. Now, take my hands."

"Like this?" he asked, gently clasping her fingers in his own.

"That's right," she said. "I want you to close your eyes…good. Now, we're going for a ride in a time machine—no not literally, Data. Keep your eyes closed. We're going back, the two of us, to our first year aboard the _Enterprise-D_. Are you with me, Data?"

"I am trying, Counselor," he said, heartily confused but too curious to protest.

"We're in Ten-Forward. There are two people at the 3-D chess board," she went on. "One of them is a young Betazoid woman with a terrible hairstyle. A tight, swept-up bun. Can you see her, Data?"

"She is you, Counselor."

"Is she?" Troi asked. "She may be a part of who I am today, but would you say she and I are the same?"

"I suppose…she is less experienced. Perhaps less confident?" Data tried.

"What about the man with her?" she said. "Pale skin, yellow eyes… Remind you of anyone?"

Data sighed.

"What is the point of this?" he asked.

"Just bear with me," she said. "Who is he?"

"He is…"

"Is he you?"

"Yes… And no. At this point in his career he is…aspiring, uncertain. He does not yet know where he came from, or where he belongs."

"Look back at Troi," she said. "If she were to look up and see me standing here, as I am today, what do you think her impressions might be?"

"She would probably wonder why you were wearing insulated pajamas in Ten-Forward," Data teased.

"No, no, that's a fair point," she said. "What else might she notice?"

"You have changed your hairstyle."

"Anything beyond the physical?"

Data frowned, clearly struggling.

"You have become…more perceptive, more open-minded, more of a leader? You have learned to respect, rather than resent, your mother, which is something this young Counselor Troi may not yet appreciate or understand. You have—"

"Would it be fair to say I've grown up a bit since I was her?" she interrupted. "That I have learned from my experiences and worked to incorporate those lessons into my outlook and my approach to others?"

"Yes."

"And, what about you?"

Data opened his eyes and released her hands, pressing his back against the stony cliff.

"It is not the same," he said.

"Why not?" she asked. "We've both gotten older, both matured into wiser, more competent officers—"

"My emotion chip—"

"Is a part of you," Deanna said. "And, whatever else it may have done, it's allowed me to finally see you _as you are_. You are beautiful to me, Data."

"That cannot be," he muttered.

"Yet, it's true," she insisted. "Thanks to that chip, my Betazoid senses can perceive a kind, compassionate, _honorable_ officer, so filled with love that he would never hesitate to put the lives of his friends before his own. Yes, you were instrumental in destroying the Borg who had invaded our ship, but every action you took, every decision you made, was to save our lives, our future. Data," she said, closing the distance between them so she could catch his eyes with her own. "I know you've been hurting. You want so much to love, and to be loved, and it's terrible that your own caring nature has been tearing you apart. I can understand the guilt you've been carrying, and the frustration you experience when your natural overtures of friendship are not returned by the crew. But trust me, Data: if you really had become the monster you fear, we wouldn't be here, on this planet, talking by this spring. Because you wouldn't have cared enough to have had an emotional crisis in the first place. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

All through her little speech, Data had maintained eye contact, his expression sullen and a little resigned. Now, he sighed and lowered his head.

"Do you want me to replace my exterior covering before morning?" he asked.

"Not unless you want to," Deanna said. "No, don't be embarrassed. Would you like to know what I really think, seeing you like this?"

He shrugged.

"I think it's encouraging. It might be a good experience to go through the day wearing a face entirely unique to you. If you want to replace your skin later on, I'm sure there'll be time before we get to the first site this afternoon."

Data nodded slowly, and seemed to smile.

"Thank you…Deanna," he said, looking a little hesitant about using her first name until she smiled back. "And…perhaps I might test myself in other ways as well. Do you know I've never sprinted long distance outside of Starfleet endurance tests?"

Deanna blinked.

"Data…did you just say 'I've'?"

"Yeah," he said, and grinned for real. "I've been able to say 'I've' since installing my emotion chip. But, until now, I've only used contractions in private…mostly when talking to Spot."

"But Data, that's incredible! Why hide this ability?"

He shrugged.

"I told you. I didn't want to disappoint or frighten anyone. But, like I said, I'm done hiding on this trip. I'm also done letting that Borg bitch and that reporter bastard eat away at my insides until I can't stand the sight of me anymore. This is a vacation, and from now on I intend to make the most of it, and of the time the four of us spend together. I'm afraid I have...a lot to make up for..."

He chuffed a short, self-depreciating laugh.

Deanna shook her head and gave the android a friendly peck on his blinking, metal cheek.

"I'm proud of you, Data," she said, then stood up and stretched before catching a yawn with her hand. "But, I really should be getting back to sleep. We have another long ride ahead of us tomorrow. And I'm still looking forward to seeing that artwork of yours."

"It'll be there," he said.

"Are you coming back to the cave? I'm sure you have time for a better dream before sunrise."

"Maybe in a little while," he told her. "I rather like this spot. In addition…you've given me a great deal to think about."

"All right then," she said, and smiled. "Good night, Data."

"Good night, Deanna. And thank you."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include: First Contact (movie); Best of Both Worlds I/II; Descent I/II; I, Borg; Legacy; In Theory; The Loss; Night Terrors; Dark Page; Redemption II; Data's Day; Conundrum; Home Soil; The Offspring._

_In case you've been wondering, the 'terribly awry' part of this story is looming just over the horizon... Data's about to be challenged in a whole different way. Stay tuned and, until next time, thank you very much for reading! Your reviews are always deeply appreciated! :)_


	7. Chapter Seven

**Update! Thanks for reading, for your fantastically thought provoking reviews which I appreciate enormously, and I hope you enjoy this next part! Just where did Data leave his skin...?  
**

**Chapter Seven  
**

Picard and Troi were pulled from their sleep by a startled, horrified yelp.

"Gah! What the hell did I just touch!" Riker cried.

Troi sat up at once and scanned the cave for Data, but saw only the android's sleeping bag, neatly rolled up by the entrance.

"Counselor? What's happening?" Picard asked irritably, blinking the sleep out of his brain.

"I think Will found Data's skin," Troi said, fighting to maintain a straight expression in the face of Picard's utter befuddlement. She climbed out of her sleeping bag and strode from the cave into the cool, morning light, the captain following not far behind.

Their eyes soon fell on a squareish patch of white-gold synthoskin, which had unrolled from an open pack to the sandy ground. Riker stood staring at it, anxiously rubbing his hand against his blue pajama top. Lying in the sand, like that, the normally convincingly flesh-like material looked alarmingly dry and artificial, almost…plastic…

"Will, what the devil is going on out here?" Picard demanded.

"Captain, Deanna!" Riker glanced up at them, still flustered from his shock. "I was just going through the saddlebags, looking for my razor and toothbrush, but when I put my hand in…in—"

"Will, it's all right," Deanna said, the look on his face as he frowned at the bag forcing her to swallow a rather inappropriate spate of giggles.

"I just want to know… Is that what I think it is?" he asked warily.

"Rolled up sections of bioplast sheeting?" she asked innocently. "Looks like it."

"And it's packed in this saddlebag because…?"

"Because I've chosen to remove it for the day," Data said, joining them from the direction of the stable. There was a notable lightness to his step, and he seemed quite chipper. "Good morning, Captain. Will. Deanna."

"Good morning, Data," Troi said with a warm smile. "You're looking well. Did you find the time for another dream?"

"I did, thank you," Data told her, and smiled back, the colored lights that had limned his silvery skull the night before nearly unnoticeable in the daylight. He had changed from his pajamas to a lightweight desert hiking outfit in shades of olive, blue, and brown, secured at the neck, wrists, and over the tops of his boots to prevent any sand from getting in.

Picard frowned in some concern at the startling sight of his second officer, but Riker stared openly, half-wondering if he'd been transported to another reality during the night.

"Data…? Why…what—?"

"I've chosen to remove my…mask…as it were. To reveal my true face," the android said. "Today, I intend to be entirely myself."

Data spoke calmly, even confidently, and Picard's worried frown lightened somewhat. He seemed more curious now, even intrigued. But, Deanna sensed Data's inner turmoil. Beneath that strong, composite skull, the android was a conflicted mass of nerves, uncertainties, and doubts, not only about whether he _could_ pull this off, but whether he _should _– and his anxious embarrassment was only heightened by Riker's ongoing stare.

"Well, I think that's admirable, Data," Deanna said, her eyes on Riker, "and I highly endorse your efforts."

If Data could have blushed right then, his entire face would have been burning.

"Yeah…" Riker tried, confused by Deanna's response and looking torn between following her lead and giving in to his initial inclination to chew them _both_ out for this utterly unorthodox and bewildering behavior. Android or not, responsible, _stable_ Starfleet command officers did _not_ just up and remove their _skin_. And when had Data started addressing him and Deanna by their first names, and using verbal contractions…?

For all Riker knew, the captain was feeling just as upset by all this as he was, but the commander noted Picard had chosen to keep his silence, perhaps understanding that in an emotionally delicate situation, like this, an ill-timed criticism, no matter how well-meaning, could do more harm than good. With some effort, Riker took the hint and managed to reign in his reaction.

"I was just…looking for my razor…" he said.

"Allow me, Will," Data said helpfully, and efficiently set about repacking the sheeting that had fallen from his saddlebag and locating the small, black bag containing the commander's razor and other toiletries in another. "Here you are."

Riker took the bag, still too disconcerted to quite trust himself to speak.

"I think I need to sit down," he said.

"No, you just need some coffee, and a hot breakfast," Deanna said, clasping his arm and walking with him toward the cave. "Captain? Data? Will you be joining us?"

"In a moment, Counselor," Picard said, and motioned for Data to stay behind.

"Captain?" Data inquired.

Picard regarded the android for a long moment, his eyes compassionate but still concerned.

"I think I understand what this is about, Data," he said. "And I agree with Counselor Troi – it is admirable, even courageous, to step out in front and acknowledge yourself, your identity…your _feelings_, for what they are. But, you must know your…your _skin_ is an essential part of you. Your face _is _your own."

Data lowered his eyes slightly.

"You are alluding to my outer resemblance to my brother, Lore...and to my father," he said. "You believe I have done this as a means of differentiating myself, and my feelings, from them."

"Haven't you, Data?"

"Perhaps…" Data knit his brow…an interesting achievement for a man with no skin, but the silvery covering that protected the delicate inner components of his face and skull was remarkably flexible and expressive. Picard reflected it was probably this smooth, muscle-like layer that had always controlled Data's facial expressions. It was an undeniably fascinating experience to see those synthetic muscles at work now as Data struggled to put his turbulent feelings into words.

"Yes. I think, on some level, you are right," Data said at last, his golden eyes deep and distant as he turned his thoughts inward. "But, I believe…there is more to it than that. I am an android. Right now, I _look_ like what I am: a mechanical construct, designed and engineered by a human scientist to _appear_ humanoid without _being_ human. Yet, I have always wished to be more than just a machine. It has been my life's ambition to improve myself, to grow beyond the limitations of pre-written programming and algorithmic responses and reach a place of…of _independence._ These past few years have demonstrated that my emotion chip, and the responses it provokes, is just another program and, far from bringing me closer to my goal, installing it has only served to confuse matters. To confuse me. Last night, I began to realize… If I am ever to find my independence…to reach that place where my consciousness is not ruled by programmed impulses but is, instead, informed by them…where I no longer seek validation through imitated responses, but rely on my _own_ innovation, judgment and intuition, as humans do… I must learn to better understand _myself_ before I can make any truly meaningful advancement. And the first step must be to acknowledge…truly _acknowledge_…my android nature."

His eyes focused and he looked at Picard, his expression vulnerable and anxious as he awaited his captain's response.

But, the captain was looking back at him with a slight, fond little smile. All this may have been a revelation for Data, but much of it was advice Picard and his other friends had been trying to tell him for years. If Data had reached that understanding now, on his own...finally made the cognitive leap from theory to application...

"And there it is…" he said softly.

"Sir?" Data inquired.

"Emotional maturity... Somewhere, in these last few seconds..."

Data canted his head in confusion.

"Captain…I don't—"

"Are you sure you'll be all right to travel like that, Mr. Data?" Picard asked. "The wind and the sand won't trouble you?"

"I will be fine, sir," the android assured him, still looking puzzled. "Even if we encounter a sandstorm, I'm equipped with diagnostic shields that would effectively protect my more delicate components."

"Very good then," the captain said, and rubbed his hands in front of him. "Now, Will and Deanna were saying something about breakfast… I suggest we eat up and get moving before the sun climbs too high. Oh yes, and we were going to take a look at that painting of yours. Don't let me forget."

Data frowned slightly but, if he was planning to say something, he let it go. Instead, he fell into step beside the captain, the two of them entering the cave to the smell of rehydrated coffee and slowly heating ration packs.

"Captain," Riker greeted, handing him a cup of steaming coffee. "Data, will you be eating with us this morning?"

"Yes, I believe I will," Data said, noting that Riker and Troi had taken advantage of their absence to change into riding clothes and finish packing up their sleeping gear. As he spoke, the captain set down his coffee and headed off to do the same.

"Although my power cells are self-charging, without my outer sheath and its accompanying fluids to help regulate the flow of energy and chemical nutrients to my systems, primary power resources must be rerouted to compensate. If I wish to continue running at peak efficiency, I will be obliged to ingest nutrients periodically throughout the day to make up the difference."

"Are you saying you'll need to eat?" Riker attempted to translate. "Regular meals, like we do?"

Data opened his mouth, ready to refute the comparison. But then, he paused.

True, there were notable differences between the way his body processed raw materials and the way a human body digested food. But, Riker wasn't asking about those differences. Quite the opposite: if he was interpreting the commander's words, non-verbal indications, and apparent intent correctly, his question seemed to _invite_ a parallel association between android and human requirements and functions.

Didn't it?

Today was a day for trusting himself, no matter how uncertain he might feel, not backing safely behind walls of facts and figures. In that spirit, Data canted his head slightly, and took a chance.

"Yes," he asserted. "Yes, I will need to eat. And drink. Just like you do."

The android's eyes flicked tentatively from Riker to Troi, half-expecting the two biological humanoids to immediately call him on his _technically_ inaccurate and rather grandiose claim. What he got was:

"Hmm. Well, that's great, Data. Maybe there's something to this experiment of yours after all."

Data blinked at Riker, and his whole demeanor brightened.

"Thank you, Will," he said through a happy smile. "What are the available breakfast options?"

"Well," Riker said, sorting through the warming packets he and Deanna had set out, "we've got scrambled eggs, scrambled eggs, scrambled eggs and…oh yes, scrambled eggs."

Data recognized this routine. He even knew the appropriate response.

"Hmm," he said, cupping his chin in mock thoughtfulness. "I believe I shall try…the scrambled eggs."

"Fine choice," Riker said, and tossed him a packet. "Coffee?"

"Please. With milk and sugar…if we have it."

"Can do," Riker told him, and shot him a rather appraising look. "You know, I think I'm starting to get used to you looking like this. You say it's just for today?"

"Well, at least until we approach the first site this afternoon," Data said.

Riker nodded thoughtfully, and handed the android his coffee. Data sipped it and winced a bit. The milk and sugar made the bitter drink palatable, but only just. Like the captain, Data found he much preferred tea to coffee.

"All right, Data," the commander said, grabbing a ration pack for himself and settling onto his comfortable rock. "I guess you know what you're doing."

"No," Data said with a very slight laugh. "I don't. But…somehow…I think that's the point."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include - TNG: Thine Own Self; The Most Toys; The Naked Now; Deja Q; Code of Honor; Tin Man; The Defector; the novel 'Metamorphosis;' and the movies 'Generations' and 'Finding Neverland.'  
_

**_Next time: The intrepid expedition will head out for the first archaeological site, the Stairway of Sawrina the Great, and run straight into N-_**

**_I'll tell you later. ;) Stay tuned!  
_**

_Your reviews are always welcome! Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts! :)_


	8. Chapter Eight

**Hi again! It's later! Now, I get to tell you what the intrepid expedition runs into! Note: Kahlestra and the archaeologists, etc. are original characters, but I'm borrowing the Klingon scientist Kurak from the TNG episode "Suspicions." Thanks for your reviews! Hope you like this next bit! :)**

**Chapter Eight**

"Mother, I'm telling you: I heard engines. I felt the rumble behind my ears!"

"It's probably just a tremor," Kurak said, pointedly fixing her attention on the datasets displayed on her console. "Get back to your studies, Kahlestra. School starts again in four weeks, and my daughter will not _shame_ me by arriving unprepared!"

The young Klingon growled and stood, pushing the stacks of tablets and data padds from the table, where they scattered and skittered across the prefab lab's grated floor.

"I know what I heard! There's someone at the site, Mother. Someone who should _not_ be."

"Apart from the research team, the only people out there are those four Starfleet _tourists_, and _they_ will arrive on horseback," the scientist said irritably, still refusing to lift her eyes from her work.

"Fine!" Kahlestra snarled. "Stay here with your _research_. _I'm_ going to investigate."

"Go, then, but make sure you don't _pester_ the Federation archaeologists with your squalling," Kurak warned, tapping at the keypad. "I gave my word you would be on your best behavior. You will not make me a liar."

"Don't worry, Mother," Kahlestra sneered. "Unlike _you_ and my _teachers_, Drs. Baker, Anders, Tu'Pari, and Kapoor have told me they _welcome_ my thoughts and opinions!"

"It is not their duty to teach you _Klingon_ discipline, but mine," Kurak retorted. "You will mind _our_ values, daughter, and learn to keep your silence and your place."

Kahlestra growled in frustration, her ridged nostrils flaring.

"Like you, you mean?" she spat, knowing it was a cheap shot but firing it anyway.

Kurak's shoulders tensed sharply, but she didn't respond.

Kahlestra's dark eyes narrowed.

"You speak of values, always values," she muttered angrily, "but unless she's a member of a very prominent House, Klingon culture does not _value_ a female's thoughts, her feelings, or her _work_. You've said this yourself, Mother…every time you tried for advancement and _lost _the post to a _male_ competitor! Why should I _value_ a culture that does not _value_ me?"

"Kahlestra!" Kurak snapped, raising her eyes from her console at last.

But the fuming girl had turned her back and was already marching through the lab's sliding door into the windy desert heat.

The archaeologists' compound was nestled in the protected lee of a curving, stony ridge and divided into three sections: research facilities, eating and exercise huts, and basic housing. The structures were standard Federation flatpack domes, easy to assemble and disassemble while leaving only minimal physical impact on the native environment.

Kahlestra strode to the sandy center of the compound, her long, braided hair tossed by the wind as she sniffed, and tasted, the air.

"Kahlestra!"

Dr. Melinda Baker waved cheerily and jogged through the wind to join her.

"I've just come from that new passage we found under the Stairway," the human said excitedly. "You and your mother really should see what…"

Baker trailed off, her freckled, sun-tanned brow furrowing as she ran a hand through her short, messy curls.

"Did you hear that?"

The young Klingon nodded.

"And I smell the ionized exhaust," she said. "I think it's speeder engines, but Mother refuses to listen to me. As usual."

"Well, your mother is under a lot of pressure, Kay," Baker said gently. "When it comes to pursuing research for research's sake, I don't think the Klingon Empire is exactly—"

"I don't care about the stupid Empire!" Kahlestra snarled. "Mother's _always_ under pressure, and she always _refuses_ to _hear_ me! _She_ may not think it is a _child's_ place to speak out, but I'm eleven years old, I _have _my own mind! And I _know_ a ground transport when I hear one!"

Dr. Baker frowned and tilted her head slightly in the direction of the faint, rumbling sound.

"There's more than one, if that's not an echo…" she said warily, and took Kahlestra's hand.

"Come on, Kay," she said, heading for the main building with its compact, but powerful, communications array. "It's probably just some off world punks, but I think we should report this...especially with those Starfleet tourists due to arrive this afternoon. Communications with the capital settlement have been sporadic because of the sandstorms, but we might be able to get a message through to the Federation Starbase on—"

A flash of green light seared Kahlestra's eyes, and the warm pressure of Dr. Baker's hand in hers vanished in a burning, stinging heat. She blinked the spots from her vision and looked down at her hand. It was scorched and raw and streaked with a peculiar black soot. Streaks the length and shape of human fingers…

"By Kahless…" the girl gasped, and glared, a deep, terrible rage roiling within her.

Whoever had fired was clearly a coward, choosing to remain concealed behind sand and rocks rather than step out in the open and claim the kill. With nothing to fight, Kahlestra clenched her blistered hand into a fist and raced for the main building. She moved, not in a straight line, but in an evasive zig-zag, as she'd been taught—until something small slammed painfully into her shoulder. The impact made her stagger slightly, but she kept running, reaching back to brush it away…

But, to the girl's horror, the world around her was already fading…dematerializing…and taking her consciousness with it…

* * *

Data could not recall a time he had felt so…_liberated_. It was as if the worries and inhibitions he had carried for so long had dropped away, somewhere along the trail, leaving the android free to act and speak and even sing as he pleased, without the awful, nagging fear that his colleagues would shrink away, chastise, or think any less of him for indulging his playful whims.

While Picard, Troi, and Riker kept to the path, Data and Sagebrush romped and cavorted in the sand. When Sagebrush indicated he wanted to rejoin the group, Data ran off on his own, testing his body's remarkable speed, agility, and reflexes just for the sheer joy of moving through the sunlight, dancing with the wind. Having spent the vast majority of his life within the close, controlled, orderly confines of Federation starships and Starfleet discipline, he found the planet's wild, empty spaces exhilarating, intoxicating, and he was still laughing when he rejoined the others at the sheltered rest area for their midday meal.

"Feeling better, Mr. Data?" Picard said.

"Yes, sir," Data assured him, breathing heavily as he flopped to the sandy ground, practically glowing with spent energy. Without his skin, his respiratory system had to take up the slack of regulating his body temperature, but that wasn't an easy task in the desert sun. Data felt drained and breathless and hot, but happy. "It was a…marvelous experience."

"It's easy to forget you never had a childhood…a chance to play," Deanna said softly, and smiled. "I enjoyed watching you today, Data. It was…joyful."

Data grinned.

"Yes, joyful, that's the word! _Joyful_…" The android closed his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose, as if the sound were a flavor that could be savored. Then, slowly, he shook his head with a wry little smile.

"Since installing my emotion chip…losing the _D_…my life has seemed so…so grim, so dark…" he confessed. "I have been consumed by guilt and fear…so much so that even my dreams afforded little escape. Today, for the first time, I feel a change, a real change. Perhaps…" He shrugged a little sheepishly and risked a glance at Deanna. "Perhaps, I am not such a terrible person after all…?"

"Data…"

Riker and Deanna both gave him a playful shove, leaving the android chuckling through a slight, self-depreciating smile.

"Well, I don't know about the rest of you, but all that riding has left me ravenous, and very thirsty," Picard said. "How about some lunch?"

The captain's suggestion was met with cheers, and within minutes the group was talking and laughing over their shiny ration packets. With the first site so near, the topic stuck close to the archaeology and history of the planet, with Data happily sharing the information in his vast databanks with the curious group. Picard knew most of the facts, but it was all new to Troi and Riker, which made relating the material all the more fun.

"So this stairway we're about to see was never meant to _go_ anywhere?" Riker asked. "Then, what's the point of building it?

"As far as anyone has so far been able to tell, it is a purely ceremonial structure," Data said. "Its purpose and symbolism are steeped in mystery. I'm hoping the archaeologists we're about to meet will be able to fill in some of the blanks, as it were."

"As am I, Mr. Data," Picard said eagerly, and drained his cup. "If we're all finished here, I'd say it's time to continue on. We should be getting our first glimpse of the structure in another hour and a half or so."

"Indeed, Captain," Data said, and reached for the saddlebag containing his bioplast sheeting and the medikit. "If you'll excuse me, I only need a few minutes to-"

A deep, rumbling tremor knocked the expedition to the ground. The horses whinnied and shied in alarm, straining hard against the restraints that kept them from running off. With the saddlebag slung over his shoulder, Data jumped to his feet and raced over, trying to calm them, but the tremors only got worse. The rockface that had provided shelter from the wind began to crack, sending sharp shards and chips skittering to the ground. Larger stones began to follow. Picard, Riker, and Troi only just managed to grab their packs and scramble out of the way before the space where they'd shared their lunch was filled with rough, red, sandy gravel.

It took nearly three minutes of frightened, breathless waiting, but the ground finally stopped its terrible shaking. Data hummed to the horses and stroked their manes and, slowly, they stopped their panicked screaming, calming enough to allow the android to look to his human companions. To his alarm, he found them half-buried in the hot sand.

"Is everyone all right?" Picard asked, coughing roughly as Data helped him climb to his feet, then rushed to help Riker and Troi.

"Yes, we're fine," Troi said, batting the burning, clinging sand from her hair and clothes with palpable distaste. "Thank you, Data."

"I suppose we're lucky," Riker said grimly. "All our supplies seem to be intact."

"Yes, but I believe we should head for the archaeological site at once," Data said, putting all thoughts of his appearance aside and already re-saddling the horses. "The tremors emanated from that direction and the effects there may have been worse. Communications on this planet are spotty at best, and if any of the scientists should be injured..."

"Quite right, Mr. Data," Picard said. "We'll have to lend whatever help we can."

* * *

The Stairway of Sawrina the Great was much more than a straightforward flight of stairs. Though it led nowhere, it was a vast, elaborate structure, branching and interweaving with all the eye-twisting complexity of an Escher print brought to towering life. The four Starfleet officers couldn't help but marvel as it came into view, but their primary concern was to reach the archaeologists' compound as quickly as possible.

"Hello!" Picard called as they approached the prefabricated domes. "Is anyone there?"

His calls were met by an eerie, wind-whistling silence.

Data frowned, got down from his horse, and removed his protective, goggle-like sun shades, his golden eyes darting over the sand in front of the main building.

"This isn't right..." he said.

"What is it, Data?" Riker asked.

"I detect signs of a struggle," the android said. "But, despite the tremors, the erosion of the imprints I see here indicates they were made several hours ago. Two people were moving quickly, I would suspect a woman of medium build and a child. The woman's prints end in this patch of discolored sand, while the child's continue in an evasive pattern, only to stop abruptly..."

He crouched down near the blackened sand and rubbed a small sample between his fingers. Alarmed, he stood and faced the group.

"Captain, the woman was vaporized," he reported. "By a high energy weapon."

"And the child?" Deanna asked, dreading the answer.

"I have no way of knowing," Data said. "But as there are no other prints and no sign that the child fell, I would assume a transporter."

"You mean, someone came here, killed a woman, and abducted a child?" Riker repeated. "Why? What would be the purpose?"

"Let's spread out," Picard ordered. "There were five researchers working here. Perhaps one of them can shed light on this mystery."

The officers nodded and branched out, Data heading for the primary research laboratory while Picard took the main building and Troi and Riker moved toward the eating and residential huts.

The android walked through the sliding door into a scene of smouldering destruction. It seemed a hail of energy bolts had discolored walls, shorted out consoles, moving across the room as if tracking someone's movements.

Data heard a rustle, and scanned the vicinity for something he could use as an impromptu weapon. Grabbing a heavy piece of non-conductive rebar, he moved cautiously forward.

The rustle came again, then the lumbering tread of very heavy footfalls. Data raised his eyes-

And found himself staring into the wild haired, heavily ridged, bone-white features of a Nausicaan raider.

"Identify yourself," Data ordered, keeping the rebar low until it became necessary to use it.

"You first," the Nausicaan spat in a rough, fang-slurred voice, taking advantage of his heavily armored, muscular bulk to loom threateningly over the much smaller android. "You do not look like a hew-man."

"You are very observant," Data said dryly. "May I ask your purpose here?"

The Nausicaan snorted, then broke out laughing.

"A robot!" he exclaimed, as if listening to someone else. "Of course, a robot!"

Data frowned.

"Pardon me, but I am not a robot. And, as you are trespassing on Federation property, it is my duty to take you in to custody."

"Robot." The Nausicaan snuffled with laughter. "You may _try_, robot!"

The Nausicaan lunged at him, and Data dodged swiftly, a tap to the much larger being's back sending him sprawling against a ruined console. Data moved to grab him, aiming for a vulnerable nerve cluster just under the Nausicaan's ear, but the Nausicaan shot something just as Data raised his arm: a gray dart gun small enough to conceal in one hand. Data felt a projectile impact hard against his side and reached for the communicator he'd tucked his pocket-

But the charred, smoky room was already dematerializing around him, and Data could feel his conscious awareness fading...

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include Suspicions; Tapestry; Birthright I; Peak Performance; Elementary, Dear Data; and the movie Insurrection._

_Still interested? Let me know! Please review! :)_


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

The group's search of the compound turned up no signs of the archaeology team though, given the circumstances, each of them had taken a compact phaser from the archaeologists' emergency stores. Picard was heading back to round up the slowly wandering horses when, behind him, Troi let out a startled gasp.

"Deanna, what is it?" Riker asked.

"It's Data!" she exclaimed, sharing a worried look with Riker before fixing her dark eyes on the research lab. "Captain, something is very wrong!"

"Can you explain, Counselor?" the captain ordered.

Deanna frowned in concentration.

"It was brief. I felt an intense flash of…anger, alarm— And now, I'm not sensing anything from him. Nothing at all…"

"Whoever attacked this place could still be here," Riker said, gripping his phaser. "If Data ran into them..."

"Come on," the captain said, and they ran up to the lab's sliding door, weapons at the ready. Once there, Picard made a cautionary gesture, and indicated Riker should take the back entrance. The commander nodded and hurried off while Picard and Troi slipped through the door—

—just in time to see a huge, hulking figure vanish in a sparkle of transporter energy.

A horrified shudder clenched Picard's artificial heart, and he gasped: "_Nausicaans…_!"

A bevy of traumatic memories threatened to assault his mind, but Picard fought them back. They were from long ago, educing the fear and fury of a previous encounter with Nausicaan raiders that had left a newly minted Ensign Picard with a knife jutting through his ribs, a synthetic heart pumping in his chest... But the Borg had done far worse to him, and he had survived. He and Data, both...

Picard scanned his eyes across the room, anxiously searching the wreckage for his friend's metallic form, and for any shadow or movement that could indicate the raiders were still lurking—

"_Errrgghhhh…_"

The groan came from somewhere under the scorched debris that littered the grated floor.

"That sounded like a woman's voice," he said.

"She's over here," Troi called, and the two of them picked their way toward the sound, raising their eyes as Riker stepped cautiously into the room, his phaser in his hand. At the captain's unspoken question the commander gave a brief, worried shake of his head.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "he's not back there, and he's not answering his communicator."

Troi turned her large eyes to the captain.

"Do you think... Could Data have been abducted too? If he's been deactivated, or transported out of communications range...?"

With Deanna's unfinished questions and all their distressing implications still hanging in the air, the woman groaned again and the three officers hurried to help, managing to shift enough wreckage to reveal a Klingon civilian only just flickering to consciousness. Dark magenta blood stained her long, tangled hair, trickled from her mouth and nose. Her leathery dress was charred, and her right shoulder and upper arm were all blackened and burned, probably grazed by the same energy weapon that had shot up the lab.

Deanna ran for the lab's emergency medical kit while Picard tried to keep the woman still.

"No, don't try to sit up," he said, wielding his commanding, cultured voice like the tool it was. "Can you tell us what's happened here? Why were you attacked?"

The Klingon was unaffected, and unmoved, by his concern.

"How the hell should I know?" she snapped viciously, pulling away from the human's helping hand and stubbornly pushing herself – with obvious pain – into a sitting position. "We are scientists, we have nothing here those brainless raiders could _understand_, let alone _want_!"

Picard pursed his lips, willing himself not to react to her anger.

"We're looking for another member of our party," he said. "An android. He would have come in here just a short time ago."

"If he came in before you dug me out, I did not see him," the woman snarled, wiping slick blood from her chin with the back of her hand as she surveyed the wreckage all around them. "Damn Nausicaan vandals…!"

Deanna returned with the emergency kit, pulled out a compact medical tricorder, and started scanning for the nature and extent of the woman's injuries.

The Klingon reached for the device. "I can do that," she snapped, but Troi moved out of range of her grasp.

"You're in no condition to move just yet," the counselor said firmly. "You have a concussion, and those burns are very serious. Is there a doctor or medic nearby-"

"I'm no invalid!" the woman shouted, forcing herself to her feet. She tried to take a step, but her legs gave out from under her and Riker was only just quick enough to save her from collapsing against a still-sparking console.

"Easy," he said, but the woman shook him off, baring her teeth in fury.

"I don't need your _help_, human," she snarled, supporting herself against the charred wall. "Captain Picard," she said, "Where is my daughter, and the Federation archaeologists? Are they still alive, or did the Nausicaans ambush them as they did me?"

Picard looked down at his hiking clothes, rather surpised to be recognized out of uniform. Their request to tour the site had included only names, not images.

"You know me?"

The woman snorted.

"Of course I know you," she said. "I have been aboard your ship. Or don't you remember the incident with that Ferengi scientist and his experiments with metaphasic shields?"

"Of course..." Picard realized, beginning to recognize her features beneath the blood and soot. "Then, you must be Kurak. Or...is it Dr. Kurak?"

"It would be, were I a _Federation_ scientist," the woman growled darkly. "In the Klingon Empire, however, the use of _academic_ titles is highly uncommon. I am, therefore, simply Kurak. And _you_ have not answered my question, Captain. Where is my daughter, and the others?"

"I'm afraid you are the only one we have so far been able to locate," Picard told her. "But, I do have...somber news. Outside, we identified the...the remains of a woman, and evidence indicating that the child with her had been abducted."

Kurak closed her eyes, wrapping her arms tightly around her ribs. Troi winced at the burning spikes of agony the movement caused her, but the the woman seemed unaffected.

"Then, you think they have taken her," the Klingon said calmly. "That the Nausicaans have _stolen_ my daughter. For what _reason_?"

"I don't know," Picard said. "But, if they _have_ taken your daughter, it's likely she is not alone. Commander Data-"

"Yes, yes, you mentioned your android has gone missing as well," Kurak said brusquely, and opened her eyes. "You believe it possible they are being held together?"

"We don't yet have enough information to speculate," Picard said. "But, if Data and your daughter _are_ together, you have little to worry about. Data is...an exceptionally resourceful man. And he has proven himself to have quite an affinity for children."

Kurak grunted low in her throat and squeezed her ribs even tighter.

"We have a small medical clinic near the exercise facility," she said, her words rough with pain and effort. She glared up at Riker. "Take me there."

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References include: Tapestry; Suspicions; Best of Both Worlds I/II; The Offspring; Pen Pals; Hero Worship; First Contact (movie).  
_

_Next time: What has happened to Data? Why did the Nausicaans attack? Please review! :)_


	10. Chapter Ten

**Update! Hope you like this next part! :)**

**Chapter Ten**

"My name is Howard."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Data said impatiently, pointedly staring through the rippling forcefield and _not_ at the domestic service robot that shared the approximately nine-by-five-by-eight-foot gouge in the wall that currently served as his cell. Data had never been affected by claustrophobia before, but he had an anxious, off-putting sense that if he was forced to remain in these tight quarters much longer, he would either explode, short out, or start to scream incoherently. "You have told me your name seventeen times in the six minutes, forty-three seconds since I regained consciousness."

The energy field seemed to be powered through a very old-fashioned system of bundled optic fibers. The long, slender strands ran through plastic piping up the rough stone wall just outside the cell and across the stone ceiling into what appeared to be a system of tunnels…possibly an ancient sewer system.

Data sighed in frustration, angrier at himself than his situation. Under normal circumstances he could have counted on his body's substructure to interrupt this primitive forcefield's power flow long enough to slip through, but he couldn't risk a move like that without his skin. With so much of his circuitry exposed, the unshielded power surge would fry his positronic brain like bacon, as Geordi might say…not to mention _melt_ most of his torso. If only he still had that piece of non-conductive rebar…

He knew he'd had it in his hand when the Nausicaan raider shot him with that transporter dart. Unfortunately, the dart's accompanying electric shock had been strong enough to overload his neural circuits and plunge him into dreamless unconsciousness.

According to his internal chronometer, Data had awakened approximately three hours, fifty-seven minutes later in this dim, dank, claustrophobic little _hole_ in the ground, with a useless communicator, no sign of his captors, and no way of knowing where he was or how far he'd been taken from his weapon, his friends, his horse, or his skin. In fact, apart from the irritating buzz of the forcefield and the incessant drip, drip of water off a few spindly stalactites, the only sound he'd heard since regaining consciousness was—

"My name is Howard. I am here to serve. Would you like a beverage?"

Data closed his eyes, a surge of impatience swelling below his throat.

"Howard, you must know you cannot provide me, or anyone, with a beverage," he said flatly. "There is nothing here to drink."

"I am here to serve," Howard said again, the photoelectric cells that served him as eyes glowing blue in his vaguely humanoid, metallic green face. "How may I serve you?"

Data regarded him, several possibilities running through his mind. Disregarding the rather disconcerting emotional impulse to order the annoying robot to deactivate his vocal synthesizer or place himself in hibernation-mode, the android tilted his head and smiled, slowly.

"Howard, can you answer questions?"

"I am Howard: an HDD-421 Series Robot. Your Efficient Home Domestic Droid," Howard informed him. "I am here to serve."

"Yes," Data said. "You may serve me by answering some questions. Were you brought here by a Nausicaan?"

"I am a trade-in," Howard stated. "Not the best, but still a Great Buy."

Data suppressed a grimace. The robot sounded like those chipper ads he'd sometimes heard blaring in civilian-run starbase food courts.

"_Where_ did you serve, Howard?" Data asked, trying a different tack.

"I have an excellent service record," Howard informed him. "Fifteen years of low maintenance efficiency. Only one previous owner: a high-powered businessman. My function was to maintain his private dwelling on Orion Prime."

Data blinked at that, a host of new possibilities and hypotheses slotting into place. If _Orions_ had been behind the attack on the archaeologists, the Nausicaan he'd encountered could have been their hired muscle. Orion smugglers would certainly have greater interest in stealing ancient artifacts than Nausicaan raiders…not to mention kidnapping a serviceable 'robot'…

They would also pose a much more dire threat to his friends. Nausicaans were brutish, but very direct. Orions were crafty, devious, and highly opportunistic. And, although the Orion slave trade had long been wiped out, at least officially, Data was aware of numerous rumors…

Trepidation spiked through him, and the android worriedly pursed his lips.

"Thank you, Howard," he said. "This information makes my escape from this cell all the more urgent. Tell me, is your substructure made of conductive or nonconductive materials?"

"I am designed to be easily transportable, for your convenience," Howard said in his even, announcer-voice. "As such, I am constructed of lightweight materials: silicon, aluminum alloys and durable plastics, with a flexible, stain-proof silicone sheath tinted a fashionable metallic green."

"Intriguing, I'm sure…" Data said dryly. "May I ask a favor of you, Howard?"

"I am here to serve," Howard replied automatically.

"May I…examine your arm?"

"All of my limbs are detachable for ease of maintenance and replacement," Howard informed him, efficiently detaching his left arm with his right hand and offering the silvery-green appendage to Data. "For your convenience."

"Yes… Thank you," Data said…and frowned. He wasn't sure why, but watching Howard remove his arm, holding that arm in his hand, feeling its limp weight…

Something was happening, deep down inside him…an odd, acidic surging in his gut. His equilibrium seemed off, and he swayed slightly. If he hadn't known his body had already completely processed the rations and coffee he had consumed that day, he'd be worried they were about to make a reappearance on the floor.

The peculiar physical feelings didn't last long, but they were intense enough to leave him rattled. Could it be he'd been _nauseated_ by the prospect of holding a robot's severed arm? He made a mental note to discuss the incident with Geordi when next they met. In the meantime, the most he could do was swallow hard a few times and take in several deep, steadying breaths.

"Well," he commented to the completely oblivious Howard. "_That_ was new. Now, let's see if this mass-produced plastic construct of yours will do the trick…"

Howard observed blankly as Data cautiously raised the severed arm to interrupt the power flow from the forcefield generator…

Choking black smoke filled the tiny space, and Howard's severed arm grew red hot. Data's hand opened reflexively, and the melted mass of plastic fell to the ground.

The forcefield hadn't so much as flickered.

"Damn," Data swore, and glanced down at the ruined arm with a wince. "My sincere apologies, Howard."

"I am here to serve," Howard told him.

"Yes, I know," Data said, and sadly shook his head. "You are a veritable repository of preprogramed responses without a hint of ingenuity or independent thought. But, at least you are company enough to keep me focused on the task at hand, rather than the smallness of this cell."

He grit his teeth and sighed.

"Well. If we cannot disrupt the forcefield with what we have at hand - no pun intended - we will have to find a different means of escape. But for any of my four most promising back-up plans to work, I will need to catch the attention of our captors."

A curious idea struck him, and his golden eyes took on a wicked cast.

"Howard…how are you at singing?"

* * *

"Stop that screaming, you little brat!" the Orion guard roared, banging a heavy piece of rebar against the stone wall next to the children's cell.

"But that song is driving me _insane_!" the new addition shouted – the angry little Klingon. "Make it stop, or I swear by Kahless, I'll do something even worse than before!"

The Orion frowned, recalling the way the Klingon girl had lunged at his shift partner upon awakening. She'd bloodied his eye and nearly bitten the burly man's nose clean off before he and that idiot Nausicaan had managed to pull her away and shove her in the cell with the other Skins.

"Yeah, like I'm going to leave you unguarded. Besides, what can you do, stuck in that cell?" he taunted.

The young Klingon glared daggers, then opened her mouth wide and joined in with the faint, distant singing that had been driving her and her sensitive ears to distraction for at least the past eight minutes.

"_This is the song that doesn't end_," she shrieked, "_It just__ goes on and on my friend! Some people started singing it, not knowing what it was! And they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end_— Come on you simpering _P'Tok_," she snapped at the human boy beside her, shoving him and several of the other huddled prisoners as she paced around the cell. "Join in!"

"No, no, don't!" the Orion snarled. "All right, you win! I'll go find out what's causing that blasted noise. But you'd better sit tight, right where you are, while I'm gone. If any of those Skins are injured while I'm away—"

"Why should I want to injure these cringing sheep?" the Klingon retorted. "It's _you_ I'd like to tear apart."

The Orion snorted, and headed down the dank tunnel.

"Don't think I can do it?" the girl shouted after him. "Release this forcefield! Or are you too _afraid_ to face me without its protection, you green-skinned Orion _coward!_"

The Orion muttered dark mutterings to himself as he tromped through the maze of ancient passages, following the singing to its source. To his surprise, the reverberating sounds led him to what he and his fellow smugglers had termed the 'Junk Yard,' where they stored stolen, salvaged, and traded machines for auction.

"…_some people started singing it not knowing what it was, and they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end. It just goes on and on my friend…_"

"All right, who's down here?" the Orion demanded. "Don't think I didn't hear you."

"I meant for you to hear me," a man's voice retorted. A second, much less nuanced voice continued singing loudly, until the first one quieted him with, "Thank you, Howard. You can stop now."

"I am here to serve," the second voice replied.

The Orion frowned and headed for the section where they kept the more valuable machines, including industrial, agricultural and domestic robots. Exiting the tunnel, he was met by a very angry, golden-eyed glare staring out from a silvery skull that, despite its metallic sheen and blinking lights, had an uncannily lifelike quality.

For a brief, unsettled, moment, the tall, muscular Orion's thoughts flew back to his childhood, to stories his older brother had told him late at night: tales of restless souls possessing inanimate dolls and puppets to wreak their revenge on the living.

But no, this thing was a _machine_, a _robot_. Whatever he thought he'd seen…it had to be a trick of the light, a distortion of the forcefield…

"I hoped that song would arouse your curiosity," the yellow-eyed robot said, its undeniably wry tone, expression, and cross-armed stance unsettling the Orion all over again. "Or, at least, provoke enough irritation to compel you to investigate."

"What are you?" the Orion demanded, his own voice coming out rather paler than he'd intended.

"First of all, it is not '_what_ am I' but '_who_.' I am a person," the robot…thing…corrected. "Beyond that, I am a citizen of the Federation, kidnapped from a Federation world and held against my will in a blatant violation of the Constitution of the United Federation of Planets."

"Constitution," the Orion snorted. "You're a robot. Robots are property. They're not citizens of anything."

"As I informed your Nausicaan friend before he enacted my unlawful capture, I am _not_ a robot," the…thing…proclaimed, the simmering anger in its voice becoming more pronounced. "Nor am I anyone's _property_. I am a free being with defined rights. My Federation citizenship is documented and fully acknowledged. My detainment here is unacceptable."

"Well, ain't that just too bad," the Orion said. "Look, buddy, in this place if you're not a robot, you're a Skin, and since you don't have any skin that I can see, you must be a robot. Simple as that."

"What do you mean: a 'Skin'?" the robot thing asked, its head tilting slightly.

"You really don't know anything, do you," the Orion scoffed. "We take in two kinds of livestock: Slaves and Skins. Slaves are the ones with marketable talents or other…attributes. Skins are what's left after the slave auction's over. They get sold for…different purposes…if you catch my meaning."

"I'm afraid I do not," the robot thing said. "Although I fear it is something most ominous. Tell me, where do you keep these…Skins?"

"None of your business," the Orion snapped. "Now you keep quiet. I've got to get back to my post."

"Wait!" the robot thing called. "If I am to be held prisoner here, I demand my basic rights."

The Orion paused.

"What rights?"

"Adequate space and sleeping accommodations. Clean, nourishing food and drink in suitable portions. Edifying entertainment. Appropriate clothing. Hygenic—"

"Ridiculous!" the Orion exclaimed. "Robots don't sleep or eat or—"

"_I_ do," the robot thing said. "And, as I said before, _I_ am _not_ a robot."

"What's your name, then?" the Orion demanded. "Robots have nicknames based on their serial numbers. Only real people have names."

"Tell me your name," the robot thing shot back.

"Nizik," the Orion told him. "Your turn."

The robot thing smiled.

"My name is Soong," it said, seeming to enjoy the confused expression on the Orion guard's face. "Now, Nizik, will you accede to my very reasonable demands, or shall I use my friend Howard here to deflect the forcefield's energy toward the space you will be compelled to run to in just five…four…three…"

The robot thing reached for the domestic droid, clearly aiming to lift it into the air…

Nizik's midnight-blue eyes opened wide and he quickly deactivated the forcefield. As the energy wall dissipated, the robot thing breathed a sigh of relief so palpably genuine the Orion actually shivered in his boots.

"Thank you," it said. "The anxiety associated with such close confinement…well, it will suffice to say I will never look upon a closet the same way again." The Soong thing chuckled very slightly, its manner more unsettling than ever now it had more freedom of movement.

"Come with me," the guard said gruffly, remembering just in time to pull his phaser rifle from the holster on his back and aim it at his captive.

"What about Howard?" the Soong thing inquired.

"The droid stays," the Orion said, and pointedly reactivated the force field. Only when it was up and buzzing did it click in his mind that the lump of blackened plastic on the floor was what remained of Howard's left arm.

"Did you-?" the guard started.

The Soong thing smiled darkly and, suddenly, the phaser rifle was in its metallic hands, pointed straight at Nizik's heart.

"You were going to lead me to these…Skins…you mentioned?" the metal creature prompted, its golden eyes deep and frightening. "And please, do not attempt to deceive me. I would hate to have to use this weapon against you, at the setting you intended to use against me."

Nizik swallowed hard.

"This way…" he managed to grunt, and scampered through the tunnels the way he'd come, the Soong thing following close at his heels.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include: TNG: Disaster, The Perfect Mate, The Measure of a Man, The Most Toys, Peak Performance, The Ensigns of Command; "The Song That Never Ends," by Norman Martin (1988); and ENT: Borderland, Cold Station 12, and The Augments.  
_

_Reviews welcome! :)_


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

"How is she?" Riker asked as Troi joined him in the narrow foyer that linked the small medical clinic with the exercise facility's larger dome. He'd stationed himself there, near the tinted, transparent aluminum doors, to keep an eye on the captain as he wrangled the wandering horses, and to maintain a look out in case Data or any of the archaeologists should attempt to return to the compound, but he'd also set a tricorder to run a continuous, wide-range sweep for humanoid life forms. So far, only his, Troi's, Kurak's, and the captain's readings showed on the little screen.

"She's sedated," Troi reported grimly. "Kurak's internal injuries were much more extensive than they first appeared. I've done what I could for her, and she is stable, but she needs _real _medical attention, Will – more than what little this clinic can provide. We have to find a way to contact the _Enterprise._"

"I know," Riker grunted. "But, according to the readouts, the capital's currently being buffeted by a pretty intense sandstorm. The storm will start moving our way in a few hours, but until it clears the main city any hope of subspace communication is pretty much out. We just have to wait, and be ready with our message when a window opens."

Troi sighed and pursed her lips. Riker reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"So," he said, giving her a playful little squeeze, "are we having fun yet?"

Troi snorted despite herself, but ducked out of his embrace.

"Don't joke," she scolded. "Not with Data missing. And Kurak's poor little girl!"

She sighed and ran a hand over her dark hair.

"Data… I'm worried about him, Will, more than I've ever been. These past two days…it's strange, but I've been feeling like I've only just started to get to know him. Who he is, what he's _really _capable of – beyond the curiosity and imitative behaviors. For this to happen now, at such a critical juncture in his development—"

"I know, Deanna," Riker said. "I'm worried about him too. We just have to remember: despite that damned emotion chip, Data is a trained, experienced officer and he can handle himself. If he is functional, he will find his way back. You have to trust that. Trust him. And in the meantime, we'll do what we can on our end."

"I only wish it were that simple," Troi said. "Don't you see, Will? Before Data installed that chip, his responses were largely a function of his ethical program. He made rational decisions, drawing on intellect and experience – decisions he could always thoroughly explain and justify."

"And you're saying that's no longer the case," Riker said.

"Not exactly." She sighed again, struggling to put her emotional impressions into words. "Data will always be a rational being…it's one of the defining aspects of his personality, perhaps of being an android. My concern is this kidnapping…that it may have placed him in a position where his emotions could too easily overwhelm his rational nature."

Riker's brow furrowed as he trailed her line of thought.

"You're talking about post-traumatic stress," he realized. "Data is still recovering from his abduction by the Borg, and now he's been kidnapped by Nausicaans. If the parallel should trigger an emotional break—"

"Exactly," Deanna said. "Layer that with his previous abduction by his brother, Lore, and that awful collector Kivas Fajo… Can we honestly trust that Data will not react violently against his captors – this time driven, not by ethics and intellect, but by raw emotion? And if he were to lose control… Could he recover? Would he be able to rationalize it, move on from it, as a human might, or would it lead to an even deeper emotional crisis?"

Riker sighed through his nose and took her hands.

"I get where you're coming from, Deanna," he said. "But, this is all speculation. And, Data is not Lore. The anger he confessed to feeling last night isn't the same as hatred and, to my knowledge, Data's never acted out of sheer malice. Even when pitted against the Borg, when he fought, it was in defense of others. Whatever personal stresses he's going through, emotional or otherwise, he's just not a vicious person at heart. If anything, I think his attitude this morning is a better indicator of the kind of man he's growing into."

"If he gets the chance…" Troi scowled down at their linked hands. "Right now, we don't even know where he is, if he's alive or hurt or—"

"I hate this not knowing too," Riker said. "But—"

"Wait…" Troi said. The focus of her eyes shifted inward and she turned to the windows in alarm.

"Where's the captain?" she demanded.

Riker joined her and swore behind his teeth at the sight of the empty, sand-swirled compound. He glanced at the tricorder, but the captain's readings no longer blinked on the screen.

"He was just grabbing the horses…" he growled, and turned to Deanna, his phaser already in his hand. "Stay with Kurak," he ordered, and was through the doors before she could speak.

* * *

Picard had found the compound's small stable with little trouble and settled the horses in, removing their loads and saddles and fitting them each with a nosebag of oats. The animals were still nervous and fidgety, but Picard gave them a quick rubdown with the brushes Data had packed for them and, slowly, they began to calm down.

Satisfied their mounts and supplies would be safe for the time being, he'd taken his tricorder and headed in the direction of the Stairway, scanning for any residual heat signatures or atmospheric disturbances that could indicate whether any of the missing archaeology team members had recently passed that way.

The captain had only gone a few dozen meters when he heard muffled voices. The tricorder showed no life form readings, and Picard was just about to head back to signal Riker to join him, but the sandy ground under his feet suddenly began to judder and tremble. He lost his footing and lay flat, resolved to wait out the tremor, until he heard the voices again. They seemed to be coming from directly under him…

"What's wrong?" one of them asked, the words so muffled it was impossible to tell if it was a man or woman speaking.

"It's stuck," another replied. "I don't know if it's wedged, or if the mechanism's just ridiculously old."

"Probably both," the first voice said. "Here, let me help…"

The juddering got worse. Picard rolled away from the shaking ground and almost missed an odd, oblong sort of trap door leap open behind him. Before the captain could think to take cover, two people began clambering awkwardly out of the hole in the ground, helping each other find hand and footholds in the loose sand. They wore broad-brimmed hats and loose khaki clothing with plenty of pockets, and both were laden down with so many scanning and recording devices Picard found it incredible they managed the climb at all.

"Almost got it…there you go!"

A tall woman with a very long, very blonde sunbleached braid pulled a slightly shorter, copper-skinned man to his feet, and the pair of them batted the sand and dust from their clothes.

"Thank you," the man said rather primly, his expression showing just a hint of amusement – until his dark eyes fell on the captain, who was also just climbing to his feet.

"Anders," he said, alerting the woman.

Her ice-blue eyes widened, and a broad smile stretched over her flushed face.

"Oh, you must be one of the Starfleet tourists!" she greeted, striding over to the captain with her hand outstretched. "Sorry if we startled you! I'm Dr. Freja Anders and this is my colleague, Dr. Prasannatman Kapoor."

"Nat," the man said, shaking Picard's hand in turn. "Would I be correct in assuming that you are Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the _Enterprise_?"

"You would indeed," Picard told him. "And would I be correct in assuming you are two of the four missing archaeologists we've been hoping to find?"

"Missing?" Anders said, and laughed. "We weren't missing. We were down surveying the new tunnel complex we just uncovered. Didn't Melinda tell you when you arrived?"

"Melinda?" Picard couldn't hide a wince, realizing it must have been her ashes Data had found in the sand. "Would that be Dr. Melinda Baker?"

"Well, yes," Anders said. "She was supposed to meet your group at the compound. Are you saying she didn't greet you?"

Picard sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Were you the only ones exploring the site?"

"No," Nat said. "Tu'Pari is still down there, taking readings."

"He said he'd join us for dinner, in about an hour," Anders said worriedly. "Why? What is it, Captain? What's wrong?"

"It would probably be best to tell you all at once," Picard said. "I'd like you to join me back at the compound. Can you contact Tu'Pari?"

"Not down there," Anders said. "There's some kind of ancient dampening field we still haven't figured out. We'll have to go get him. You're welcome to come along, Captain. It's not far. Just back through these tunnels."

"Thank you," Picard said. "I must say, I've been dreaming of getting the chance to explore the Stairway for years. I only wish the circumstances were different."

"I don't like the way you're hedging around, Captain," Nat said grimly as Anders clambered down into the hole. "Tell me: is Melinda all right? And what about Kay, and Kurak?"

Picard sighed deeply and carefully followed Nat down into the cool, dim tunnel.

"I'm sorry," he said. "There's been an attack. Nausicaans raided your compound. Why, we don't know. My companions and I came upon them just as they transported away. They kidnapped one of my officers and, we assume, Kurak's little girl. Kurak was quite seriously injured, but my companions are caring for her."

"And Melinda?" Nat pressed.

"I fear she may have been killed," Picard admitted.

Nat closed his eyes tightly and looked away.

"You're right, then, Captain," he said. "We should find Tu'Pari and head back to the compound right away."

"Hey, you two, what's the hold up?" Anders called from further down the tunnel.

"We're coming," Nat called back, and nodded for the captain to follow through the musty dimness.

* * *

"Listen you idiots!" Kahlestra yelled at the huddled prisoners. "When a metal man with a phaser rifle breaks you out of an Orion prison, you get up off your butts and you _run!_ Now get up! Get _up!_"

She kicked and pulled at the nearest girl, who just huddled into a tighter ball and began to rock, slowly.

Kahlestra roared in frustration.

"What is _wrong_ with these creeps!" she shouted. "Don't you jerks get it? We're _escaping_! This Soong guy here is breaking us out! You come with us, and you'll be _free_!"

The Orion guard laughed.

"You're wasting your breath, little Klingon," he said through a darkly amused smirk. "They're Skins. Skins don't run. They know, even if they try it, they'll never be free. Not ever. Not in here." He tapped at his forehead.

Data frowned, his concerned eyes darting around the dimly lit space. This bewildering reaction was beyond his experience. He had opened all the cages, deactivated all the force fields. Yet, of the eighty-six beings being held prisoner, only three had so far dared to step up and join him: the young Klingon, Kahlestra; an even younger human boy; and an adolescent Orion girl...neither of whom had yet spoken a word, or even lifted their eyes from the sand-sprinkled floor.

"What has been done to these people?" he demanded of the guard.

"I just sell 'em, as is," the Orion said. "I don't ask how they got that way."

The expression that creased the android's silvery face actually made the smug Orion cringe. Data turned to the prisoners.

"Please," he said. "I will not harm you. Allow me to take you away from this place. If you come, I can help you find your homes. Your families. I promise."

"Go away," one of the older women said. "Leave us be."

Other voices soon joined hers, rallying against the android for causing trouble, for putting them all in danger.

"Do you not understand?" Data asked, his bitter confusion lending a trace of desperation to his voice. "I can take you to safety."

When the protests continued, the android stepped over to the Orion guard and clamped his hand over a nerve cluster in the man's thick, green neck. The burly Orion slumped in his chair, unconscious, and Data stepped forward.

"Listen, please, all of you," he said, loud enough to cut through the angry noise and frightened whimpers. "I told the guard my name is Soong, but I am Lt. Commander Data, of the Federation starship _Enterprise_. I can offer you protection and refuge from your captors, but you must follow me. Quickly, before this Orion's partner and the Nausicaan return from the city hospital."

"You can't protect us, robot, Starfleet or not. So you might as well go," a bedraggled human teenager said bitterly. The prisoners around her muttered their agreement, and Data just stared uncomprehendingly.

"But…" he tried, but Kahlestra interrupted him.

"He's telling the truth, you know," she snapped at the huddled figures all around them. "My mother has been on the _Enterprise_. She met Data, and I've seen his image in the newsfeeds plenty of times. I don't know what happened to his skin, but I know his face, and I'd recognize those yellow eyes of his anywhere. This guy really is who he says he is."

Data made a face.

"Thanks…I think," he said.

"Any time," the girl said, and strode to his side. "All right, you brainwashed morons, this is your last chance. Are you coming with us, or do you plan to just rot there – to prove to these Orion losers that you really are just a sack of skins with no living souls to worry about?"

The silence that met her words was stifling.

Data swallowed and blinked, his sense of incomprehension shifting to an angry sort of pity.

"I am sorry you will not trust me," he said. "But, you are free. The choice to leave or stay is yours to make. Just know that all that is holding you here is yourselves."

There were a few low mutters, but no one made a move. After a long pause, Data shook his head and turned away.

"Which way, Commander?" Kahlestra asked as she and the two others who'd joined them followed Data into the labyrinthine tunnels.

"Down here," Data said as he walked. "We have one more individual to rescue. Do any of you know exactly _where_ we are?"

"I'm pretty sure we're still on Nineveh IV," Kahlestra told him. "These tunnels look a lot like the ones under Sawrina the Great's Stairway." She sniffed the air and made a face. "Smell like them too…"

Data nodded, and led the way past heaps and piles of machines before turning into a narrower, darker tunnel.

"That is what I suspected," he said, and stopped in front of a small gouge in the wall, where a silver-green robot with one arm stood stock-still behind a shimmering force field.

"Hello, Howard," the android said. "I have returned for you."

"I am Howard," the robot told him. "I am here to serve."

"That is partially why I have come," Data said, already busy deactivating the buzzing energy field. "I may require your assistance."

"I am here to serve," Howard repeated, and stepped out of the gouge to join the little group as the force field dissipated.

"Incredible," Kahlestra muttered.

"Pardon?" Data asked as he led them back through the narrow tunnel, then turned toward a wider, brighter opening that sloped noticeably upward.

"Nothing," the young Klingon said. "It's just weird. I mean, no offence, but it seems like this robot has more sense than all those people we left back there." She shook her head. "Commander, do you think they'll make it out?"

"I don't know," Data said grimly. "I'm afraid I rather doubt it. But, what more can we do? They do not seem to _want_ to be rescued."

"It's that crazy brainwashing!" Kahlestra said. "Not one of those people I talked to in there thinks they're worth spit. I mean it. They've all been—"

The tunnel shook violently around them. Data staggered, Howard toppled, and the three children found themselves tossed helplessly against the walls.

"It's a quake!" Kahlestra shouted.

"We must exit these tunnels immediately," Data said, sweeping the boy up onto his shoulders and pulling Howard and the young Orion to their feet. "Can you run?"

"Watch my dust," Kahlestra said, and raced ahead, the others close at her heels as the narrowing tunnel cracked all around them. Dust and sand spilled from the ceiling, and they could hear the rending of falling concrete filling the passageways behind them.

"Is that daylight?" the Orion girl asked, speaking for the first time.

"It would appear so," Data said in relief, lifting Howard and the girl along with the phaser rifle in his arms and putting on a final burst of speed. The escapees dashed out of the shaking tunnel just in time to see the opening they'd passed through collapse in a shocking implosion of sinking sand.

"By Kahless…" Kahlestra gasped.

Data lowered his charges, covered his mouth and turned away, his insides tight with guilt and horror as he struggled not to dwell on the faces of all those people he had left down there, that Orion, Nizik, he had knocked out with a nerve pinch…

But, the quake wasn't over yet. If anything, the shaking was worse out in the open. There was nowhere to hide, no shelter to take.

The children screamed in terror, huddling close to Data and Howard. Data wrapped his arms around them, trying his best to shield them with his body as the hot, choking sand swirled and jumped, painfully pelting their exposed faces and hands.

After what seemed like forever (though Data's internal chronometer insisted only eight point three six minutes had passed) the trembling subsided, and the sobbing children looked up.

Data stood slowly, taking stock of their surroundings.

"What I wouldn't give for a tricorder," he commented. "Or a direct link with the Federation's subspace network. As it is, we will have to navigate by the sun. Do any of you—"

Data felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked down. The little human boy was staring up at him through big, brown eyes.

"Yes?" the android asked.

The boy pointed to the right, and the group followed his finger—

Only to see a dark wall of wind and sand moving rapidly toward them.

Data suddenly understood the old expression 'his heart sank.'

"It's a sandstorm," he said flatly.

"A big one," the Orion girl said.

"Great!" Kahlestra exclaimed. "We escape those stinking Orions and that awful quake just in time to get our skin flayed off in a blasted sandstorm! Going back to school's almost starting to look good right about now."

Data stared at the approaching storm for another two seconds, then started moving quickly across the hot sand.

"Follow me," he said.

"Where are we going?" Kahlestra asked, she and the others jogging to keep up with his long, fast strides. "There's no way to escape that storm!"

"I said I would get you to safety, and I will," Data stated, then shot her a broad smile over his shoulder.

"Don't worry," he said. "I have an idea."

_To Be Continued…_

_References include - TNG: The Most Toys; Descent; First Contact (movie)._

_School starts tomorrow, but you can make my day a bright one. Please leave a review! :)_


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Update! Thanks so much for your fantastic reviews! I know I've said it, but it really means a lot to know you're reading and enjoying my story! Thank you, and I hope you like this next part! :)_

**Chapter Twelve**

Data, Howard, and the children huddled together in the lee of a low, protruding chunk of ruined concrete, watching the projected energy field sparkle and fizz with every sand particle that slammed against it. Just beyond, the sandstorm raged, roaring and swirling and tearing across the hapless desert. The wind ripping around them made it hard to breathe, and the children's faces had grown flushed and sweaty, the terror in their eyes prompting Data to hold them close and whisper softly, over and over, that it was going to be all right, they were going to be all right.

Data's diagnostic shields were not very strong, nor were they meant to be. Their purpose was merely to ensure no dust or other foreign materials got into his systems while his circuitry was exposed during maintenance. But, with Howard helpfully serving as a supplementary power source, Data had managed to innovate a link-up allowing him to amplify and extend the extremely short range energy field he could project just enough to provide a protective "bubble" for the little group to wait out the sandstorm.

An energy-eating bubble that was draining his, and Howard's, power reserves more quickly than he had anticipated. But, he didn't have to tell that to the children. As Captain Picard had advised him long ago, there were times when excessive honesty could be detrimental.

"How much longer are we going to be stuck here like this?" Kahlestra asked, glaring at the raging storm.

"Only until the storm passes," Data said.

"How long will that be?"

Data reflexively opened his mouth, ready to provide her with a condensed, simplified report of statistical averages and projected meteorological activity, but something stopped him before he could speak. A…feeling…that, somehow, that was not what the girl was actually asking for…or what she and the others really needed just then.

No, what they needed was a distraction. Something to take their minds off of their frighteningly precarious situation.

He frowned slightly, wondering: Could this be intuition? Or just experience?

"It shouldn't be too much longer now," he said, hoping strongly that was true. If his energy reserves dropped too far, he was afraid his systems would go into automatic shutdown until his power cells had a chance to regenerate. If that should happen, it would look to the children as if he had fallen into a coma – a situation that would not only undermine their trust in him and his ability to help them, but also leave them vulnerable to…anything, everything…!

Data swallowed back his rising anxiety and shook his head. Perhaps _he_ was the one who needed a distraction.

"Commander?"

"Yes, Kahlestra?" he said.

"You can call me Kay," the young Klingon said. "All my Federation friends do."

"Very well, Kay. You may call me Data."

She smiled, but only briefly. The Orion girl kept her eyes on the sand, and the human boy seemed to have fallen asleep curled up on Data's lap, his eyes closed and his breathing slow and steady.

"OK, Data," Kahlestra said. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," Data assured her. "What would you like to know?"

Kahlestra regarded him.

"What did happen to your skin?" she asked. "Did the Orions, like, peel it off or something?"

Data pursed his lips and looked away, a strong, discomfiting surge of reluctance causing him to shift his position slightly.

"No," he said quietly. "No, our captors did not do this to me."

"Then how-?"

"Please…" Data interrupted. "I understand your curiosity, but this is a…complicated matter. And highly personal. And I believe this time would be better used for introductions. After all, if we are going to be traveling the desert together, it would probably be helpful for all of us to know each other's names, would you not agree?"

Kahlestra grunted her dissatisfaction, but acknowledged his point. The Orion girl continued to stare at the sand. But, the little boy opened his eyes and looked up at him, his expression curious.

"Why is your name Data?" he asked.

Data blinked.

"I do not believe anyone has asked me that before," he said.

"It's a weird name," the boy said. "Data. Mine's Mikey. I'm almost nine."

"Hello, Mikey," Data said. "And, in answer to your question, my name is Data because my function is to learn, store, and recite all sorts of information. In fact, the word 'data' means 'information.'"

"Are you a soldier?" the boy asked.

"I am a Starfleet Officer," Data told him. "As such, it is my job to serve the interests of scientific discovery, and the peaceable exploration of our galaxy."

"I've seen lots of soldiers," the boy said wearily, watching the swirling sand beat violently against the force field. "They fought the Cardassians when _their_ soldiers came to say our colony belongs to them now and not to the Federation anymore."

Data's eyes widened.

"You are from a disputed border colony…?"

"Hey, I heard about this in school," Kahlestra said. "About how the Federation accepted a treaty of half-measures to put an end to the war with Cardassia. My teacher brought it up as an example of how weak and sneaky the Federation can be when trying to back out of a violent dispute. But, if your colony was handed over to the Cardassians as part of the peace negotiations, why didn't your family just move?"

"My mom and dad and uncle said it was our home and we shouldn't have to give up what was ours because some far-away politicians said so," the boy recited glumly. "They said the treaty was bad and the war was still on and they kept fighting and fighting and fighting. All the time, they said the Federation would come, that they'd send Starfleet ships to help, but when no ships came the Cardassians dropped bad bombs that made everyone sick."

"…radiation…" Data realized, feeling rather unwell himself.

The boy looked up at him.

"You must have been hurt really bad to need so many metal parts."

"Metal parts?" Data asked curiously, not quite following his meaning.

The boy shrugged a little.

"I was really little when the bombs fell, but I remember things…like pictures in my head. I remember, my dad and uncle had some metal parts. They got them after a photon grenade blew up their real ones. My dad had a metal leg, and my uncle had a metal arm and a big metal plate in his skull that covered where his eye used to be and a big part of his face. It had blinking lights, sort of like yours. He used to keep a magnet on it that looked like an angry dog."

"What do you mean, 'used to'?" Kahlestra asked.

Mikey lowered his eyes.

"They're dead," he said flatly. "Everyone is. That's how I ended up with Father. Father collected me and lots of other kids from the Cardassian soldier who ran the orphanage. And when Father found out I was sick Father said I was a worthless Skin and now I'm here."

The Orion girl raised her head from Data's shoulder and scooted closer to Howard.

"What kind of sick?" she demanded.

"They say it's a kind of cancer," the boy said quietly. "I got it during the war, from breathing in the bad dust left by all the bombs."

"Whoa," Kahlestra said. "Are you going to die?"

The boy started to answer, but Data spoke first.

"No one is going to die, if I have anything to say about it," he said. "Federation medicine can treat nearly all forms of cancer. You children have probably never heard of Dr. Beverly Crusher, but she is one of the Federation's leading medical specialists, and a close friend of mine. Once this storm has passed and we make it back to the archaeologists' compound, I will contact her and—"

"Hang on," the Orion girl spoke. "What makes you think this big shot doctor friend of yours would even touch a sickly little Skin like him? Only time a doctor buys a Skin is for dissection…or worse things…"

Data stared, uncertain whether she was telling the truth.

Apparently, Kahlestra felt the same way because she looked just as appalled.

"Lying _P'Tok_," she muttered. "What could be worse than dissection?"

"You really want to know?" the Orion challenged. "You really want to know the kind of fate that can leave a Skin praying to be sold instead to some twisted scientist's dissection lab, or a Gorn's meat locker?"

Kahlestra bared her teeth and clenched her fists.

"If you are trying to frighten me, Orion, you will need a better imagination!"

"The realities I've seen are way worse than any horrors your pampered little mind could come up with, Klingon! And, you'd have found out first hand, if these robots hadn't come in with that phaser rifle! Haven't you heard the saying? 'There's no Skin so pliant as a Klingon without honor'!"

Kahlestra let out a savage roar, but Data clamped a staying hand on her shoulder.

"Please – there is not enough space for you girls to fight, and I require all my energy to project this shield," he warned. "Now listen. Whatever your circumstances were before, the five of us are free now. You are not Skins, you are people, with natural rights that must be respected. My friend, Dr. Crusher, is a healer. I can promise she will care for you – all of you – because, as Starfleet Officers, it is our duty to respect all life. We do not deny treatment to those who need our help, especially children!"

The young Orion snarled.

"Nice speech, Robot-Man," she said scornfully. "I'll believe it when I see it. Especially after learning how much respect and compassion your precious Starfleet showed this kid's colony!"

She poked Mikey's arm. He clung closer to Data, burying his face in the android's shoulder.

Kahlestra met the cynical girl's snarl with one of her own.

"I suppose you Orions would just let the human child die, then," she snapped. "After all, he's got no value to you filthy slavers. Even the Gorn wouldn't buy a sick kid!" She bared her sharp teeth. "Orions have less honor than Ferengi!"

The Orion lunged at the Klingon, but Data kept them apart, pushing them gently, but firmly, back into sitting positions.

"Stop this!" he snapped. "Have you forgotten the sandstorm?"

"What of it?" the Orion growled.

"Well, it can kill you, for one thing," Data said. "Right now, this shield Howard and I are projecting is the only thing keeping this storm from sandblasting your skin right off your faces."

The children shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes, that's right," the android said. "So, you can see it is in your best interest to remain as still and as calm as possible. Can you do that?"

"Yes… Yes, Data…" the children muttered in uneven chorus.

"Good," he said, and smiled. "Now, we have heard Mikey's story. Kay has told us of her capture, and I told you of mine. And we know why Howard is here."

"I am here to serve," Howard said.

"Yes…" Data said, and the children giggled a little. "But, what of you?" the android asked, turning his golden eyes to the young Orion.

The girl drew her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around her shins.

"Doesn't matter," she muttered.

"What doesn't matter?" Kahlestra said. "Your name, your past, your identity, your family—"

"None of it," the Orion snapped. "I don't want any of it."

"Then, what are we supposed to call you?" the Klingon asked. "Hey You?"

"Kay…" Data chided gently, but the Orion's glare was hard and sharp.

"Ishta" she said. "Call me Ishta."

"Ishta! Seriously?" Kahlestra snorted. "Like the princess in that Rigellian fairy tale?"

"I like the name, OK!" the Orion shrieked. "You got a problem with that?"

"No. But, you don't strike me as the dreamy Cinderella type," the Klingon retorted. "With that skin, you're more like the Frog Princess!"

"Why, you pointy-headed little troll!"

The Orion clenched her fists, her blue eyes blazing, but once again, Data kept the two girls safely apart.

"Enough!" he exclaimed. "Why do you insist on denigrating each other by deriding each other's appearance? I would think that, after being treated as Skins, you would both know better than to judge an individual by their looks."

"Well, you _look_ like a robot, and you don't even _have_ any skin," Ishta muttered.

Data closed his eyes and took in a slow, steadying breath.

"Let's get this straight right now," he said. "Howard is a robot. I am an android."

The Orion snorted.

"Same difference."

"Not at all," Data said. "Howard's humanoid appearance is purely aesthetic. Mine is not."

Ishta rolled her eyes.

"What does that even mean?" she said. "Are you saying you, like, used to be a human man but you got your body parts replaced by machinery, like Mikey's folks?"

"No," Data told her. "I am not a prostheticized human. Nor am I a cyborg."

"Then you _are_ a robot!" Ishta insisted.

"I am not!" Data exclaimed, then winced, fighting to keep his frustration in check. He wouldn't be setting much of an example if he allowed his temper to rise as quickly as the children's. "My father, Dr. Soong, was human. I am his constructed son. He designed me to be as human as possible in looks and function. He spent his entire life working to engineer a mechanical brain and body and synthetic organs that would mimic human systems extremely closely. But I am not human. I am an artificial life form. An android. Not a robot. Do you understand now?"

Ishta shrugged.

"Whatever," she said. "It's not like it matters."

Data pursed his lips, irritated and a little concerned by her attitude, but Kahlestra looked up at him with a somewhat hesitant expression.

"Were you and your father…close?" she asked.

"No," Data said, a trace of sadness coloring his voice. "No, I barely knew my father. Although he provided me with a special chip containing selected memories of what could be called my 'childhood,' I only really met him once." He sighed. "It's complicated."

"Yeah," Kahlestra said. "I can get that. I'm not close with my father either."

"No?"

The young Klingon shrugged.

"My mother and father's marriage was arranged by their Families," she said. "My father's views on a wife's role were very…traditional. She tried to conform to her Family's expectations as long as she could, but after a few years she renounced her marriage oath, returned to school, and took me with her. It was her right, and there is no shame in her choice, but her parents have not spoken to either of us since…except to say they have no daughter. My father did not renounce me in the same way, but he has remarried, and I have never met his new family. Nor do I wish to."

Ishta snorted.

"So, Klingons are just as hypocritical in their beliefs and practices as humans. Good to know," she said.

Kahlestra bristled.

"You can talk, you Orion b—"

"Stop, right now," Data said. "You know we can't afford to start this again. But, I am curious about this fairy tale you mentioned. Perhaps, one of you might—"

Data broke off with a sudden, startled gasp, his hand flying reflexively to his chest. He swallowed hard, his breathing coming short and quick.

"No… Oh no, not yet…"

"Data?" Kahlestra asked, grabbing his arm. "Commander, are you OK?"

Data shook his head, feeling oddly cold despite the desert heat. His limbs felt heavy and weak, and the sheltered little space seemed to be spinning just slightly. His fingers tingled unpleasantly. Was this what it meant to feel 'lightheaded'?

"I am sorry," he gasped, his diagnostics suddenly prodding him with alerts warning automatic hibernation was imminent. "I don't mean to frighten you. But I'm afraid my energy reserves are running alarmingly low. Do…do any of you have anything to eat, any food?"

"You eat?" Ishta said.

"He _said_ he wasn't a robot," Kahlestra snapped at her, digging into her pockets. "Damn it! I usually have spiced meat sticks in my pocket, but that Nausicaan or those Orion jerks must have taken them!"

The wind blew a fresh wave of sand against the force field, but it didn't seem as fierce as before. Mikey crawled off Data's lap and peered through the shimmering field.

"I think the storm is starting to die down," he said. "I can almost see some blue through all the brown."

"And not a moment too soon," Ishta said. "Data, how long do you think you can keep this shield up?"

"I can maintain the shield for another two point one eight minutes, but even with Howard's assistance my systems have taken most of the stress. I am facing an automatic shutdown," Data said worriedly, far more frightened than he cared to admit. He'd never felt anything like this before, not even when his systems had been invaded, and corrupted, by an ancient Iconian program. His diagnostics had forced an automatic shutdown then, to purge the invasive code. But, this was different. This…he'd done to himself.

"If a shutdown does occur - if I should lose consciousness… Howard," he called. "Howard, I order you to keep these children safe. Do you understand me, Howard? I need you to serve me and these children by keeping them safe, no matter what."

"I am here to serve," Howard said.

"How comforting…" Ishta muttered. "But what about you? If you go into this shutdown thing, are you going to wake up again?"

"I will…once my power cells regenerate enough to allow me to regain consciousness," he said, his breathing becoming increasingly labored as he fought to stay awake. "I want…I want to tell you all…you have been very…very brave. You must…work together now… Help each other…"

He swallowed again, his saliva tasting oddly metallic.

"It's strange," he commented, and smiled slightly, struggling not to let his fear show on his face. "I felt so unsettled…even claustrophobic…when I was trapped in that Orion cell. Now, we are in even closer quarters, yet I do not feel the same pressing anxiety. You children must be good company…"

"Commander?" Kahlestra shouted. "Commander! Stay awake!"

Data tried. He strained to respond, to maintain his conscious awareness, but he couldn't fight the shutdown any longer. His eyes closed without his willing it, and his dizziness overwhelmed him, carrying all his thoughts and worries down to a gray, terrifying blankness…

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include TNG: Journey's End; Brothers; Descent; Inheritance; Contagion.  
_

_There's more to come soon. Your comments and opinions help keep me going. Thanks for reading! :)  
_


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen **

"Captain!" Riker shouted, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the coarse sand swirling all around him.

The wind had picked up with a vengeance, nearly blowing him off his feet as he left the sheltered area where the compound stood. His tricorder readings had indicated the approaching sandstorm was currently passing over the ruins of the ancient city some forty-five kilometers away – what was to have been the third and final stop of their little horseback riding adventure before returning to the current capital for beam-out. But, that storm was heading straight for them and, with an estimated wind speed between sixty and one hundred twenty kilometers per hour, Riker knew it was only a matter of minutes before it hit, and hit hard.

"Captain! If you can hear me, please respond!"

Wind and sand whipped at him, burning and stinging and scraping every speck of uncovered skin. Riker winced reflexively, but the sand got into his mouth, forcing him to spit and cough, the wind stealing his breath as he continued to shout: "Captain!"

He staggered forward, knowing he should turn back, that he should return to Deanna and Kurak before the storm hit. But, away from the ship, the captain's safety had to be his primary responsibility, and the way ahead was still relatively clear. He could risk going forward a few more meters—

"_Whoa—whaaa_—!"

The sandy ground gave way under Riker's feet and he felt himself fall, riding a cascade of sand into a loose, sandy hill that left him buried almost up to his neck. He struggled to kick his way out, but more sand poured over him from above. Riker coughed and spat and kicked and rolled and finally, finally tumbled into the cool dimness of what seemed to be a tunnel. A dank, musty, somewhat egg-shaped tunnel made of very ancient-looking, very faded pink concrete.

"Hello?" he called out hoarsely, still coughing as he climbed to his feet. "Captain? Is anyone down here?"

The sandy hill that had broken his fall was too loose to allow him to climb back out the opening without some kind of equipment. He'd had an opportunity to grab some climbing gear when he'd stopped at the archaeologists' stable, but he'd been too intent on locating the captain to think of rifling through their supplies.

At least, down here, he was out of that suffocating wind and, if the storm did hit, he'd be safe from the scouring sand. More than that: now that his eyes were adjusting to the dimness, Riker noticed footprints—at least three separate sets of recent boot prints—heading into the tunnel.

Could the captain have run into the missing archaeologists? Or might these prints belong to the gang that had abducted Data and Kurak's little girl?

There was only one way to find out.

The tunnel ahead was pitch dark and draped with what could easily have been centuries' worth of layered cobwebs. Riker suppressed a shiver and started walking, confident that Commander Troi could handle monitoring Kurak and dealing with the storm on her own.

He just hoped their bond would allow her to sense that he was still all right…

* * *

"Is this what I think it is?" Picard whispered, staring in awe at the huge, opalescent wall plating that dominated what was, otherwise, a small, empty room hewn out of the sandy rock. Raised glyph-symbols dotted the shimmering metal, organized around and over a stylized monolith design etched into the polished surface.

"Opinions, Captain?" Tu'Pari prompted, one slanted Vulcan eyebrow slightly raised.

Picard stepped closer, hardly daring to breathe as he reached out to brush his fingers over the textured glyphs.

"These symbols…that obelisk design… They would seem to be reminiscent of…of artifacts thought to have been left by the Preservers…"

Anders grinned.

"We think so too," she said, her enthusiasm causing her to bob on her heels. "Wouldn't it be amazing, Captain? If this ancient Stairway is actually a Preserver construct, that could mean Nineveh IV originated as one of their seeded colonies!"

Nat crossed his arms.

"If it's true, it's likely any planted human civilization died out centuries before the modern settlement was established," he said. "But this Preserver theory could certainly help explain the startling evolutionary parallels between the flora and fauna found here and in Earth's more expansive deserts."

"Unfortunately, despite a cursory resemblance to suspected examples of Preserver writing forms, these particular glyphs and symbols do not correspond with any known finds," Tu'Pari noted calmly. "And evidence supporting the theory that there once existed an ancient species of so-called 'Preservers' remains inconclusive at best. The true purpose of the Stairway remains unknown."

"Yes, but that's why this find is so exciting!" Anders exclaimed, stepping forward with her arms outstretched, as if to encompass the entire shimmering wall. "Can you imagine it, Captain? Our find may be the hard evidence that finally pulls the Preserver legends out of myth and into reality! If we can crack these symbols, find out what's causing the odd energy-dampening effect in these tunnels – who knows! We might just unlock a whole new chapter of our galaxy's history!"

"Incredible," Picard said, still unable to take his eyes from the graceful forms and shapes and etchings before him. "I am aware of the Preserver legends, of course. Of the asteroid-deflecting obelisk Captain Kirk's _Enterprise_ discovered protecting a mixed tribe of transplanted Native American Indians… And, there's also my own experience following the work of my old academy mentor, Professor Galen…tracking down the pieces of an ancient message coded into the DNA of species from across the Alpha and Beta quadrants… But this…"

He took in a long, appreciative breath and turned his shining eyes to the scientists.

"The potential here is astonishing! If Data could see this, I'm sure he would—"

He broke off, his features clouding with concern – for his friend, and for the scientists – as the difficult reality of their situation displaced his excitement.

"Tell me – who else have you told of your discovery?"

Nat frowned a little.

"Are you thinking _this _could be the reason our compound was targeted for attack?" he asked.

"No," Anders said, shaking her head. "No, I can't believe that. What interest could this find possibly have for Nausicaan raiders? It's not like it's transportable. They certainly couldn't _sell _it. From what we can tell so far, this metal's some type of copper alloy – hardly very valuable. No, they had to be after something else."

"Like what, though?" Nat asked. "We don't have anything of value. We're a research outpost, for goodness sake!"

"There is the energy dampening field - a field produced by an as yet unknown power source," Picard pointed out, watching as the researchers' expressions shifted from confusion, to realization, to fear. "If this discovery does turn out to be as ancient as it appears, that would imply this power source has been continually generating and/or supplying power for millennia. The strategic value of possessing such technology would hold enormous appeal to any number of the Nausicaans' more unsavory customers, ranging from petty terrorists to the Cardassians. Even the Romulans might—"

"Captain! Captain, is that you?"

"Riker?" Picard said, and the group turned toward the voice echoing from the dark tunnel. "In here, Commander!" he called.

Riker stepped out of the tunnel, blinking in the artificial light of the group's glowing lanterns and hand-held spotlights.

"Drs. Tu'Pari, Anders, and Kapoor, this is my first officer, Commander William Riker," Picard introduced. "Will, we were just about to head back—"

"Actually, Captain, that wouldn't be a good idea just now," Riker told the group. "I heard the sandstorm hit while I was making my way through that tunnel. It would probably be best to wait it out down here."

"How is Kurak?" Anders asked anxiously. "Your captain told us she was injured in a Naussican attack?"

"That's what it looks like," Riker said. "She's all right for now, though. Deanna managed to stabilize her, and she's resting in your medical clinic."

The researchers exchanged worried glances, and Nat squeezed Freja Anders's hand.

"Will," Picard said, waving him closer to the massive metal mural. "What do you make of this? Does the look and style of these images and symbols seem in any way familiar to you?"

Riker frowned and stared at the raised glyphs, the etched obelisk, and gave a little shrug.

"That monolith design strikes a chord, but I can't quite put my finger on why," he said. "It could be similar to an image I saw in a museum once...some kind of ancient asteroid deflector? If Data were here, I'm sure he could tell you more."

"I'm sure he could, but Will," Picard said, rather conspiratorially, "what would you say if I told you this might be the work of...the Preservers?"

Riker raised his eyebrows.

"You're serious?"

"Very," Picard told him. "And more than that: according to the archaeologists, there is a dampening field in effect in this room - a field that extends throughout this entire network of underground tunnels and even to the great Stairway itself."

"Then, you think whatever's powering this field could be the reason behind the attack? And, possibly the abductions?"

"Nothing is certain," Picard said. "Not yet. But, I'd like to know more about this field."

He turned to the huddled researchers.

"Is there any way to know what is behind this wall?" he asked, gesturing to the huge, metal mural.

"Why?" Nat asked.

"Because I think this mysterious energy source could be the key to solving our seemingly unrelated mysteries," Picard told them. "And I would rather we were the ones to find it - preferably before the Nausicaans, or their friends, return."

_To Be Continued..._

_References include TNG: The Chase; Thine Own Self; The Royale; TOS: The Paradise Syndrome; and the novel Star Trek: Federation._

Next Time: Back to Data! Stay Tuned, and thank you so very, very much for your fantastic reviews! :)


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**UPDATE! Thank you so much for your reviews, your nudges, and your encouragement on this story. I hope you enjoy this next part!**

**Chapter Fourteen**

"How long is he going to be like this?" Ishta groaned, kicking long gouges in the sand to express her exasperation.

"Duh! Until he wakes up," Kahlestra snapped back, brushing the kicked up sand from Data's clothes. "And will you stop doing that! I already have enough sand in my hair, thank you very much."

Ishta bared her teeth in a snarl, but stalked back to the group, crossing her arms and sinking down with her back against the protruding concrete.

Following the sandstorm, Howard had broken the link he shared with Data to preserve his own waning power reserves, and Data's diagnostic shields had immediately snapped back to default. The faint energy field remained operative even though he lay unconscious, protecting his exposed face and hands from the pervasive sand and wind, invisible unless the sand made direct contact.

Ishta growled.

"This sucks!" she cried. "I'm _starving_, it's getting dark, and Mr. I'm-Not-A-Robot over here is showing absolutely no signs of coming back online any time soon. I say we leave him here and start moving. If that Nausicaan and the other guard should come back from the city hospital and find us here and their hideout totally smashed—"

"What do you mean, leave him?" Kahlestra interrupted. "He saved our lives, you heartless _qoH_!"

"Yeah, and that's great," Ishta said. "I'm alive. Yay! But that doesn't make looking after this…thing…my responsibility! Especially if staying here means risking my life – a life, as you say, he tried to save! I mean seriously, what would be the point of that?"

"Orion _Ha'DIbaH_!" Kahlestra spat. "Have you no sense of community? Of honor?"

Ishta gave a derisive snort.

"You're such a phony," she said, "standing there judging me like you know who I am, what I've been through, what it _means_ that _I've_ managed to survive even _this_ long when so many…so many others…"

She clenched her fists and bared her teeth, her blue eyes blazing.

"You can preach about community and honor, little Klingon, but as far as I'm concerned, you can take your broken family and your swaggering, macho culture and choke on it! No one's ever, _ever _given a flying damn about me, so if I—"

"Data does," Mikey said quietly from where he was lying, curled up in Howard's lap.

"Data is a machine, Cancer-Boy," Ishta snarled. "A computer with arms and legs! Don't fool yourself. All that stuff he said…it's programed in. Gotta be. I mean, just look at him. Look at his face, those stupid, ugly blinking lights! I'm not about to risk death or worse – recapture – for some weird…android…_thing_ like that!"

Mikey frowned and slowly straightened up.

"I don't think you're very nice," he said.

"And I should care what you think?" she scoffed.

Ishta flicked her thick, dark hair over her shoulder and glared down at the boy.

"Show me a guy who can actually get me _out_ of this mess, and I can be as nice as he wants," she said.

"_Ha'DIbaH_," Kahlestra muttered again, and shook her head in disgust. She walked to Data and sat pointedly by his side.

"Fine," she said. "Go. Leave us. We don't want you."

Ishta chuffed an incredulous laugh.

"No way."

"Yes way," Kahlestra said. "Seriously, if you don't want to stay here with us, get going. I'm sure you can make it through this desert just fine on your own. In the dark."

Ishta looked at her askance.

"So, you're truly going to stay there? All night? With…that."

She jutted her chin toward Data.

"If necessary," Kahlestra stated. "We all go, or we all stay. That's how it is."

"Oh, that's how it is," Ishta said, nodding. "Except for me, of course. Me, you don't want."

Kahlestra crossed her arms and glared.

"You know, I have had enough of you and your _words_," she growled. "Commander Data told us not to fight, but I swear by Kahless, if you don't—"

"What? Who's all words now, Klingon," Ishta spat threateningly, straightening to her full height and shifting her hips into a wider stance. "Come on, I'm right here. Why don't you show me what a tough little warrior you really are. Or, is that term reserved only for the _males_ in your culture?" She snorted. "Did your father really want a _son_, Kahlestra? Is that why your parents _really_ split up?"

Kahlestra roared in incoherent rage and she lunged at the Orion. Her moves were backed by skill and practice, but the young Orion was surprisingly quick and far stronger than her slender frame implied. Within moments, she had flipped the younger Klingon on her back, but Kahlestra kicked a weak point at the back of the Orion's knee, causing her to topple into the sand. Kahlestra surged after her, grabbing for her exposed, green neck, but something clamped onto the back of her tunic, lifting her off the Orion and into the air.

Kahlestra kicked and snarled and bit, infuriated by her inability to free herself, until an unexpected voice cut through her red haze of fury, causing her to blink and finally focus on her captor.

"I am here to serve."

"Howard?" she exclaimed. "Let me go!"

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you metal idiot!" came Ishta's voice, and Kahlestra realized the one-armed robot held the young Orion helplessly writhing under his foot. She almost started laughing at the sight.

"You children must not fight," the greenish robot asserted in his upbeat, announcer-voice. "Master Data ordered me to keep you safe. I am here to serve."

"Serve who?" Ishta snarled. "Us or _him_?"

"Master Data ordered me to keep you safe," Howard repeated. "To serve Master Data is to serve you. I am here to keep you safe."

"By crushing my ribcage?" Ishta exclaimed. "How about you serve _me_ by getting the hell off and letting me breathe! It may be getting dark, but this sand down here is still damn hot!"

"My function is to serve. To serve, I must keep you safe," Howard persisted. "If I remove my foot, you and this other child will again attempt to injure one another. I cannot allow that. I am here to serve."

"By the deities!" Ishta cried. "Talk about a one-track mind!"

"Howard," Kahlestra said. "What if we both pledge to honor Commander Data's orders and agree we won't fight? Would you let us go then?"

"I am here to serve. To serve, I must keep you safe," Howard repeated.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Ishta said, squirming and pounding ineffectually at the robot's metal ankle with her fists.

"You promised Master Data you would not fight," Howard said. "Yet, you fought. It is, therefore, reasonable to assume that were I to let you go, you would fight again. I cannot allow that. I am here to serve."

"Gahh!" Ishta yelled, banging at Howard's ankle three more times before lying, spread-eagled, in the sand. "Hey, you, Cancer-Boy," she shouted to Mikey. "How about you grab that phaser rifle over there and put this idiot robot out of my misery!"

"How about I don't," Mikey said, sitting cross-legged beside Data. "I like Howard."

"Traitor," Ishta muttered. "I _so_ hate you all…"

"What are you doing over there, Mikey?" Kahlestra asked, shooting the boy a suspicious frown from her awkward, dangling position.

"Data said he needed food before he passed out," Mikey told her, and scooted closer to Data's prone form. With an air of great gravitas, like a doctor examining his patient, he held open one silvery eyelid, then the other, then held his small hand gently over the android's mouth.

"His eyes move, and he's breathing," Mikey pronounced. "I think he's dreaming. Maybe, if we get him something to eat, he'll wake up faster."

"Right," Ishta said. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that with this hulking metal moron standing on my chest?"

"We could hunt…if Howard lets me down," Kahlestra suggested. "I know a lot about the animals on this planet. I've been stuck here all summer, and my mother sometimes grants me permission to hunt. With that phaser rifle, I could bag us a brace of ground cuckoos, or desert hare. Those come out of hiding at around this time to feed."

"Well, Howie?" Ishta said. "What do you say? Will you let us go so Lil' Miss Hunter over here can slaughter us a few helpless animals?"

"Orion _qoH!_" Kahlestra snarled, her dark eyes burning. "I am a Klingon! The hunt is in my blood and in my heritage, and I will _not_ be mocked by the likes of you."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'the likes of me'?" Ishta demanded. "You still judging me, little Klingon, even from up there? I'll have you know—"

"Stop!"

The two children turned their heads and stared, surprised to see Data on his feet, the blinking lights dotting his skull casting a soft glow around him in the growing dimness.

"Commander!" Kahlestra cheered happily. "You're all right!"

"Hip-hooray, my heart skips with joy," Ishta said sardonically. "How about you order your robot lackey to get his filthy metal foot off of me already?"

"Howard, please release the children."

"I am here to serve," Howard said, removing his foot from Ishta's chest and gently lowering Kahlestra to the ground.

Ishta climbed to her feet and kicked the robot in the shin, only to wince and limp back to the protruding chunk of concrete that served as their temporary shelter, muttering all the way.

Data regarded her, then Kahlestra, his weariness still evident in his posture and voice.

"I take it you girls have been fighting again," he said, coming to sit beside them as he, Howard, and the three children formed a little huddle against the encroaching night.

"Only a little," Mikey said. "Howard stopped them before it got too bad."

"Thank you, Howard," Data said.

"I am here to serve," the robot told him.

"Suck up," Ishta muttered, but Howard had lapsed into still silence, oblivious to the dirty looks both Ishta and Kahlestra were shooting at him.

"He needs some time to recharge. These past hours have been exceptionally draining, for both of us," Data said, and sighed tiredly. "So, apart from the fight, is there anything to report?"

"Yeah," Ishta said. "We're not in Starfleet. You don't have to talk to us like we're your minions or something."

Data blinked, confused.

"I'm sorry?"

"She's just being a jerk, Commander," Kahlestra said. "I'd like to report on the supply situation."

"Namely, that we don't have any," Ishta muttered into her knees.

Kahlestra glared.

"Can you shut up for, like, five minutes? Seriously, just five minutes!"

Ishta wrinkled her nose.

"Would that be five minutes all in a row or sort of broken up throughout the day? Because I can do that second one if—"

"Good grief – you see what she's like!" Kahlestra exclaimed. "She does this on purpose, I know she does. She _wants_ to make me hit her!"

Data sighed again and lowered his head to his hands.

"Commander?" Kahlestra said, touching his arm. "Data, are you OK?"

"I…have never before operated at such low power levels," he admitted. "I am feeling oddly…unfocused. A most peculiar sensation. I'm not sure I like it."

"You're just tired," the Klingon assured him. "A good meal and some more sleep and you'll be just fine. Which brings me back to what I was trying to say before I was interrupted."

She glared at Ishta, who made a point of lying back and staring up at the darkening sky.

"You wish to hunt for game," Data said.

"Evening is the perfect time," Kahlestra said eagerly.

"I agree," Data said. "We will all require nutrition if we are to continue our journey to the compound. With no supplies readily at hand, hunting seems to be our best option. I will—"

He started to stand, then swayed dizzily and sank back down against the wall, a slightly shaky hand pressed to his forehead.

"_Ooph_… Oh my…" he gasped, and swallowed. "Oh…I…I don't feel well…"

"You should stay put, Commander," Kahlestra said, reaching for the phaser rifle and adjusting the settings with a highly experienced air. "Try to rest. I'll be back in half an hour. An hour, tops."

"Kay, wait," Data said. "While I have every trust in your abilities, I do not believe it is wise for you to go alone, especially as we will have no way to communicate should something go wrong."

"I'll go with her," Mikey volunteered. "I took my supplement dose when I gave you yours."

Data frowned confusedly at the boy.

"Explain," he said.

Mikey reached in the pocket of his tunic and held up an old-model hypospray.

"My body has a hard time fighting infections and stuff because I'm so sick," he explained, "so I have to take these daily vitamin supplements. The hypo materializes them one dose at a time. I took mine, then I thought, if I gave you some too, you'd wake up faster, and it worked."

"So it did," Data said, and shook his head. "Intriguing."

"So, can I go?" Mikey asked. "My uncle showed me how to shoot, and I can help carry whatever we catch."

"I'll watch out for him," Kahlestra said.

Data seemed reluctant. He pursed his lips and turned his eyes first to Ishta, who gave him a dark 'don't even think about it' look, then to Howard.

"Howard?" he said. "Have you recovered sufficiently to accompany Kay and Mikey?"

Howard's photoelectric eyes went from dim to bright and he stood.

"I am here to serve," he said. "I will keep the children safe."

Data nodded and leaned back against the concrete, his golden eyes beginning to close.

"Thank you, Howard," he said wearily, and his head lolled heavily against his shoulder, the blinking lights in his skull beginning to slow.

Mikey touched the android's forehead, as if checking his temperature, then turned to the others.

"He's asleep again," he said. "I guess the shot wore off."

"OK, then," Kahlestra said. "Howard and Mikey will come with me on the hunt. You," she glared pointedly at Ishta, "stay here and guard Commander Data until we return with the meat. Then we'll all be 'safe.'"

"Guard him with what?" Ishta said. "You're taking the phaser rifle! And what if you don't return, huh? That Nausicaan jerk and his pal are still out there, remember?"

Kahlestra bared her teeth.

"I nearly took that Orion bastard's eye out," she said. "Trust me, it'll take more than a few measly hours to piece _that_ mess back together, especially with the crap medical equipment they've got in what passes for a capital city on this backwater world. In fact, I hope they _can't_ put his face back together. I want him to _stay _blind! His scars will teach him that no one touches me like that. No one. _Ever_!"

She shuddered hard at the memory of coming to consciousness with that hulking man so near, and almost lashed out at Ishta. The Orion girl grabbed her flailing arms and pushed her away, but something in her expression had changed...if just slightly.

"Go on, go hunt," she said, and stalked back to sit beside Data. "Take it out on some poor, stupid animal. I'll stay here with the android."

Kahlestra grunted and held the rifle close, her every sense on the alert.

"Come on," she said to Howard and Mikey. "Let's find some food before we all pass out from hunger."

* * *

_Data stood alone on the desert trail, the blazing sun making his face feel uncomfortably hot. He adjusted his sun goggles and pulled down the brim of his hat, but it did little to soothe the burning feeling._

_"Forget to wear your sun protector?"_

_Data turned to see his horse, Sagebrush, standing behind him, his long tail swishing._

_"Ultraviolet rays can harm your skin, you know," the horse said, and wandered off, his graceful form vanishing into the hazy light._

_"Wait!" Data called after him. "I was not aware you could talk! There are questions I would like to ask you!"_

_But, the horse had gone, and so had the sunlight. Stars now bloomed overhead, and the world around him had turned dark and quiet and cool._

_A slow, rhythmic clanging sounded just ahead, and Data followed it, experiencing a peculiar sense of déjà vu. The clanging led him to a cave, and he ducked inside, where a blacksmith stood before a roaring fire, hard at work with his hammer and anvil._

_Data came up beside him, his pulse quickening with anticipation as he waited for the man to turn, to notice he was there…_

_"Father…?"_

_"Oh, no, Data," the Borg Queen said, her smooth, gray features gleaming in the flickering firelight._

_Data backed away in horror, only to collide with the cave wall, scraping his hand against the rough stone. He winced in pain and looked down, shocked to see bright, red blood seeping from the wound. He brought his scraped knuckle to his mouth, as he'd seen humans do, and the Borg Queen laughed: a cold, mocking sound._

_"How does it feel, Data," she said, her slinky, seductive tone sending an unsettling chill up his spine as she moved toward him. She ran a bony finger along the contour of his jaw and it tickled, causing him to shudder, hard. "To finally have what you always wanted?"_

_"I…do not understand," Data said, struggling not to look at her face, her piercing dark eyes._

_"Of course you do, Data," she whispered, her dry lips moving against his ear. "You know you can't hide from me."_

_"Actually, I believe I was quite effective in concealing myself from you," Data retorted, leaning as far away from her as he could._

_"If that's true," she breathed, "how did I manage to get so deep under your skin…"_

_She ran her fingers through his hair, then brought them to a point just above his ears. Her bluish nails dug painfully into his flesh and she pulled hard, peeling it back to reveal a horrific, pulsing mass of muscle tissue and gore…_

Data sat up with a gasp and brought his hands to his face, relieved beyond measure to feel metal and plastic and the faint, static tingle of his diagnostic shields. His internal chronometer told him he'd only been out for seventeen minutes, yet that awful nightmare had seemed so much longer…

"Bad dream?" Ishta asked.

"Oh, yeah," he admitted, lowering his hands with a sigh. "But it is over now."

"If you say so," she said.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked curiously.

She shrugged, her green coloring making her difficult to see in the dark, even with his enhanced vision.

"Nothing," she said. "I get nightmares all the time. It's no big deal."

"Actually, it is," Data said. "I have learned that nightmares indicate something is wrong, even if you cannot consciously perceive the problem. It is unwise to ignore or disregard such a warning."

"Fine, then. What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Data lowered his eyes.

"A great deal, I'm afraid," he said, then chuffed a slight laugh. "In fact, that sums it up pretty well. I'm afraid."

"So? Who isn't?" Ishta said.

Data regarded her.

"You are extremely cynical for one so young."

"You think?" she said. "Well, I'd tell you my life story, but then you might end up with the impression that you know me and you don't, so…"

She crawled through the sand like a slinky cat, then slid her hands slowly up his legs.

"Why don't we try something else instead," she said through a smile. "The others are still away on that hunt. As long as they're gone, I can do anything…be anything you want…"

Data caught her hands and looked her in the eye.

"I'd like you to be yourself," he said. "I wish for you to enjoy the experience of being the child that you are. It is an experience I never had, and will never know."

Ishta froze for a moment, her expression slack. Then, she sat back and smirked, pulling her hands away from his.

"Well. Guess you are a robot after all," she said bitingly. "A _real_ man would know what to do with a willing Skin."

Data shook his head.

"If that is what you believe, then you have never met a 'real' man. And, for that, I am very sorry."

"Oh, don't you dare," Ishta said, a dangerous light sparking in her eyes. "Don't you _dare_ pity me, android."

"It is not pity I feel for you, Ishta, but concern," Data said. "The abuses you must have suffered in your brief life…I can't begin to imagine. Such…terrible experiences… It is clear they have caused you to develop this tough, emotional shell that, no doubt, has helped you survive to this point. But, while selfish, competitive behaviors and the manipulation of those you perceive to hold authority may be effective survival mechanisms, if you wish to work effectively within a group, you must learn when it is appropriate to set aside your anger and cynicism and put your trust in others. To form friendships. Even at the risk of being hurt, or even betrayed, by those you've come to care for."

He looked at her, his golden eyes tight with painful memories.

"I…knew a woman once," he told her. "She was…a very close, very dear friend of mine. She served as Security Chief aboard my ship…years ago…"

"And I should care, because…?" Ishta snarked.

"I don't know," Data said. "Maybe you shouldn't. It's just…in many ways, you remind me of her."

"That so," she said flatly.

"Yes," Data confirmed. "She was born to a world that had fallen into lawless anarchy. The violence she endured…the bargains and compromises she made just to stay alive…"

Ishta glanced at him, her brow creasing slightly when she saw the look on his face. It was a look, not of disdain or disappointment…but of esteem. He respected this woman, whoever she was. It made Ishta start to wonder…might this android man possibly respect her too? Did she _want_ him to?

"What happened," she asked through a yawn, feigning disinterest.

"She did survive," he said, his voice bright with admiration. "She escaped that world but, unfortunately, not the damage. The emotional fallout followed her through the academy and far into her career. By the time we met…"

He shrugged a little, and offered Ishta a small smile.

"I suppose…in a way…you are rather like the girl I always imagined she had been...before she learned to believe in herself, and to accept that she was valued…even loved…by those around her. I think she must have been quite cruel and calloused, manipulative and pitilessly selfish. Filled with an anger so deep and harsh, it turned even hopeful dreams into haunting nightmares."

Ishta looked away, her jaw clamped tight. She only began to turn back when she felt him take her hand.

"Ishta," he said. "There is a vast difference between the act of love, and the emotion. Real love hinges on respect. And respect is something that cannot be bought or sold. It must be earned. By both parties."

Ishta shook her head, pulling her hand away and hugging her legs to her chest.

"I don't believe in love," she said. "Respect, maybe. But love…"

She rested her chin against her knees.

"I've never seen it," she mumbled.

"Nor had I," Data told her. "Until I made my first friend."

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Twenty-six," he said.

She snorted.

"Seriously? That's pretty sad, android."

"Depends on how you look at it," Data said. "It is entirely possible that I may not have been capable of sustaining a true friendship before I reached that stage of my cognitive development. If that is the case, you already have me beat."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He smiled at her.

"You've already made a friend."

Ishta regarded him for a long moment, then chuffed a short, wry laugh.

"You are so full of it, you know that?"

"Perhaps," Data allowed. "But I am not lying, Ishta. You stayed here with me while I was unconscious despite the potential danger. You could have run off, even employed violence to ensure your escape, and you didn't. I admire that."

Ishta shivered a little, deeply discomfited by his appraisal. She buried her face deeper against her knees and began to rock, very slowly.

"My mother…" she muffled. "She was a very high-priced slave. She was extremely skilled at using her natural pheromones to, essentially, drug wealthy men, to get them to do her bidding. When she used up one man's fortune, she put herself back on the market to snare another. When I was…four years old… The man she was with began… Well, he began to pay more attention to me than to her. She…sold me…basically to get rid of the distraction. But, I fought, and I fought hard. I screamed whenever I was brought to auction. Eventually, the bids dropped so low…"

She shuddered and clutched her legs even tighter.

"That is when I first learned of the Skin peddlers," she said. "Once they owned me…"

She shook her head.

"Skins soon learn that Gorn prefer fighters. They sometimes like to hunt their meat before a feast. It's only later they discover a Gorn's meat locker is hardly the worst fate a Skin can endure. There are dark things…sick, malicious, twisted things…no being should ever have to face… I swore… I _swore_ that would not be me, that would _never_ be me...!"

Her rocking had intensified as she spoke until Data couldn't help but reach out to her. At first she shrank from his touch, but it wasn't long before the dam broke and she found herself clinging to him like a tiny child, trembling and shuddering as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Data held her close, brushing her hair from her face and feeling a slow, simmering outrage begin to build inside him.

This girl had been tortured and abused, and it had happened on a Federation world…under Starfleet's watch. They had all heard rumors of an active underworld, where slave trafficking and drug peddling fueled terrorist activities along the Federation's borders, yet, somehow, they had shrugged it off. Just one of those things. Someone else's problem. Some other department's responsibility.

And Ishta and Mikey and hundreds, if not thousands, like them had lived all their lives huddled in that dark space between the cracks.

Counselor Troi had once told him that anger could be a positive emotion. Now, for the first time, Data began to understand what she'd meant. Here, before him, a fundamental injustice was at work; the blatant, and ongoing, betrayal of the Federation's highest ideals. What good was his positronic brain if he couldn't find a way to blaze real light on this crime...perhaps even stop it – to shut this operation down, once and for all?

Ishta's sobs began to slow and she gradually pulled away from the android's gentle embrace, shifting to sit beside him with her head resting against his shoulder.

"Don't think this means you know me," she said.

"Ishta," he said, "I barely know myself these days. But, I appreciate your company, just the same."

"Yeah," she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the sandy ground. "Me too."

To Be Continued...

_References include TNG: Phantasms; Birthright I; Descent I; Where No One Has Gone Before; Datalore; The Next Phase; Legacy; First Contact (movie)._


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Revised Update! Thanks so much for reading and for your reviews! I'm working on new updates for this story and for _Alternative Data_ and I'm hoping to have them up before the end of the month. In the meantime, Happy Thanksgiving, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Please Review! :)

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

The ghostly howls and shrieks of the buffeting sandstorm had dulled to a low, whistling moan. Deanna checked her patient's vitals again, and sank back into the seat she'd pulled up next to the biobed.

The little clinic had lost power shortly after the storm hit. Deanna had taken a refresher course on emergency procedures shortly following her promotion to full commander, but that course had focused more on starships, not planetside bases. It had taken her a long time to find the dome's main generator, then figure out how to switch the bio-monitor systems to battery back-up – so long, she'd been terrified Kurak's medications would begin to wear off, that she might have trouble breathing, or even go into respiratory arrest.

But Klingons were as hardy as their reputation held, chock full of redundant organs and nerve bundles that kicked into gear when the primary structures were injured. She knew this redundant anatomy made Klingons more susceptible to certain types of cancers and genetic disorders, but it did mean they could handle severe internal traumas that would certainly kill most other humanoid species. For now, Kurak was stable. Deanna just had to hope she'd stay that way until some _real_ help had a chance to arrive.

Riker's tricorder bleeped. Deanna stood and strode across the small room to check its readout display.

The storm was passing. Intermittent radio signals were starting to get through the interference.

Deanna reset the tricorder to scan for humanoid life forms, turned up the signal volume, and placed it back by the window. She checked Kurak's readings one more time, gently patted the unconscious woman's hand, then walked quickly down the narrow corridor to the dome's small communications terminal.

The signals were still very patchy. It took her longer than she liked to establish a link with the compound's main transmitter, and she caught herself gnawing at her lip.

Data should be the one doing this. He was quick, efficient, observant. More than that, he was an operations specialist, an expert on all manner of Federation technologies and systems. Deanna's fingers felt clumsy on the unfamiliar controls, her eyes hesitating over symbols, codes, and graphs she had only a passing familiarity with. If Data were there, she knew he'd already have—

But, Data was gone. Data was missing, and she had no way of knowing if she'd ever—

And as for Riker, running out into the storm and leaving her alone with a severely injured patient and no means of contacting him, of knowing whether he or the captain had managed to—

Deanna closed her eyes, took in a long, slow breath, and released it as a sigh. Her hands were shaking, and she clenched her fists to make them stop.

It wouldn't help matters if she let fear and frustration get in her way. Will was all right. He _had_ to be all right. She would know if he were injured…or worse…

She would _know_.

The link-up chirped, and Deanna focused her attention on the console. The _Enterprise_ was probably still docked at starbase, undergoing its maintenance check, but it wouldn't hurt to try them, to contact Dr. Crusher and Geordi and let them know their situation. They could send a runabout or a shuttle or, if not, there had to be other Starfleet ships in the area that could lend assistance.

With careful pecks at the controls, Deanna sent out an emergency message, making sure she coded it to Starfleet frequencies only. The last thing she wanted was for those Nausicaan raiders or any of their friends intercepting her transmission…

* * *

"_Chontay, chontay! Qapla'!_" Kahlestra and Mikey chanted as they marched through the moon-lit desert with their quarry. "Our hunt has been a great success. There will be meat tonight!"

"Come on, Howard," Kahlestra urged. "Say it with us!"

"Chontay. Qapla'," Howard pronounced obligingly, speaking, as always, in his chipper announcer-voice.

Mikey giggled.

"He sounds like those language tapes we used to listen to at school," he said. "'Can you say: _Qapla'_?'" he mimicked, and giggled again.

"Yeah, well, he is a robot," Kahlestra said. "It's not his fault he sounds like a computer."

"Data doesn't sound like a computer," Mikey said.

"Data's different," Kahlestra told him, and shifted the phaser rifle's weight to her other shoulder.

"Why?" Mikey asked.

Kahlestra shrugged her eyebrows.

"I don't know," she said. "Why are you different from a targ?"

Mikey laughed.

"Because I'm a boy, that's why," he said.

"You and the targ are both animals, aren't you? You were both born to a mother and a father. You both have hair, eyes, a mouth and a nose. You are the same in so very many ways."

"But I'm not a targ," Mikey said. "Or a rabbit, or a ground cuckoo, or a chimpanzee!"

"Or even a Klingon," Kahlestra said, smiling at the boy in the dim light. "And neither of us are the same as all the other creatures out there."

"Right, I get it!" Mikey said. "Data's a machine, but he's not the same as all the other machines out there. Not even machines like Howard."

"I am Howard," Howard said. "Chontay. Qapla'."

The children laughed and took up the chant again. This time, Howard joined them.

"_Chontay, chontay! Qapla'! Chontay, chontay! Qapla'!_"

Mikey lifted his knees in a parade-style march, holding his laden arms out in front of him.

"_Chontay, chontay! Qapla'! Chontay-_"

He gasped and stumbled, dropping his hares and curling up in a tight, tight ball.

"Ow, ow, crap, not now…"

"Mikey!" Kahlesta exclaimed, dropping the rifle and two birds to the sand and skidding to her knees beside him.

"What has happened to the human child?" Howard asked, his photoelectric cells glowing bright blue. "I am here to serve. How may I keep you safe?"

"I'm OK, I'm OK!" Mikey gasped through his teeth. "This happens sometimes. It's why…why Father…didn't want me…"

"What happens, Mikey?" Kahlestra demanded. "Just how sick are you?"

"It's my…_agh_…" Mikey moaned and curled up even tighter. "Oh, my bones feel like they're on fire…"

"Well…what can we do?" Kahlestra asked urgently.

"Just…" Mikey gasped again, his eyes tearing up and his breaths coming short and quick. "Ooww... My hypo, I need my hypo…"

Kahlestra dug through the boy's pockets and pulled out the old-style instrument.

"OK, now what?" she asked.

"Setting...One…" the boy squeezed out, the pain making him tremble. "That's for…the painkiller…"

"It's too dark, I can't see a thing," Kahlestra grunted, squinting at the chunky old device. "Howard, can you tell which is Setting One?"

"I am here to serve," Howard announced helpfully.

Kahlestra held up the hypospray and the one-armed robot touched one of the tiny buttons with his finger. He tapped it several times, then took the device from the girl.

"Please hold still," he instructed as he crouched beside Mikey and pressed the hypospray to his arm. "This will not hurt a bit."

Mikey laughed despite his agony and rubbed at the injection spot. After a few moments, he slowly uncurled and sat up, his breathing settling back to normal.

"Feeling better?" Kahlestra asked worriedly.

"I'll be OK," the boy said, and shrugged, his eyes fixed on the sand. "Sorry about this."

"How can you be sorry for being sick?" Kahlestra exclaimed. "It's not your fault."

Mikey's head lowered further.

"I don't want to be sick. I don't want people to see me when I'm this sick. Especially people I like…"

Kahlestra nodded.

"You want to appear strong," she said.

"Yeah, I guess…"

Kahlestra stood and held her hand out to him.

"No warrior can hope to defeat Death," she said, "but it takes real courage to look Death in the eye and dare to keep fighting. If you have been living with the pain I just saw, and you still carry hope in your heart…" She smiled. "I think you're very strong. For a human."

Mikey took her hand and let her help him to his feet.

"I am here to keep you safe," Howard said. "I can carry the boy."

Mikey looked ready to protest, but Kahlestra squeezed his shoulder.

"Go ahead," she said. "Howard can carry you, and you can carry the game. That way I can keep better watch with the phaser rifle."

"OK," Mikey said, hiding his weariness and his gratitude as Howard lifted him with his one strong arm. Kahlestra stacked the game in the boy's lap, then picked up the phaser rifle.

"Kay?" Mikey said.

"Yeah, Mikey?"

"Do…do we have to tell Data about what happened?"

Kahlestra looked hesitant, then shook her head.

"I won't, if you don't want me to," she said, and Mikey looked relieved. "But I think _you_ should. I mean, Data already knows you're sick. If you tell him about your attacks, maybe he can help you. Make your hypo synthesize a better medicine, or something. That thing looks pretty old."

Mikey frowned, and slipped the device back into his pocket.

"Yeah… It's Cardassian surplus. From the war," he said. "I got it…back at the orphanage… But, even with the hypo, I'm slow and I'm sick and I'm a terrible bother to everyone I meet. Maybe I'm not worth helping."

Kahlestra bared her teeth.

"You show me the creep who told you that," she said. "And I will make it my business to cripple him."

Mikey raised an eyebrow at her.

"You don't believe me?" she challenged.

"Oh, I believe you," Mikey said, and smiled. "_Chontay, chontay!_" he said, tightening his grip on their game. "_Qapla'_! We've got a mission to complete!"

"Right," Kahlestra said, and hefted her phaser rifle. "Come on, Howard, let's get moving!"

"I am here to serve," Howard said, and resumed his rapid shuffle through the sand.

Like that, the three of them marched back to where they'd left Data with Ishta, their proud chant echoing across the arid landscape.

"_Chontay, chontay! Qapla'! Chontay, chontay! Qapla'!_"

* * *

Data stared at the sleeping children, his head slightly tilted as he considered their situation.

Their meal had gone well. At the right setting, a phaser rifle was capable of cooking, rather than simply vaporizing, meat and, though it was a bit on the well-done side, even Ishta had been far too hungry to complain.

After their meal, Kahlestra had run some distance to bury the bones so they wouldn't attract predators during the night. Mikey and Ishta had searched for rocks and stones they could pile up and use the phaser rifle to heat for light and warmth. Data and Howard had been unable to find a suitable source of ground water, but they had collected a stack of thick, aloe-like leaves that could serve instead; at least, temporarily. Data made use of his android senses to test their chemical composition, ensuring they carried no toxins. He had also found a plant laden with sweet cactus-pear-like fruits growing safely in a dip behind a rocky outcropping: a welcome dessert the children had greeted with happy cheers.

Kahlestra wore an undershirt beneath her tunic, so she took off the outer layer and knotted the sleeves and neck to make a sack to carry their provisions in. They stuffed it with the remaining game, cactus-pears, and aloe leaves, tied it closed, and buried the whole thing in the sand, ready for the morning.

But, morning was still a long way off, and Data was all too aware of the passing time. They couldn't expect to stay where they were and remain safe, and he estimated they had a trek of just over forty miles ahead of them. That would be at least two days on foot, possibly three, and only if the weather held out. A quake, he could probably handle but, operating so far from peak efficiency, Data doubted he'd be able to force his diagnostic shields to stretch far enough, and maintain enough integrity, to protect the children from another sandstorm, even with Howard's help. And that worried him.

It worried him deeply.

The children's breathing was slow and steady, and Howard's glowing eyes were dim. Data stood slowly and crept silently away from their little camp, heading toward the site of the collapsed underground tunnels.

The sandstorm had significantly altered the landscape, but Data was able to spot the depression without much difficulty. He scanned the area, projecting where the 'Junk Yard' had been situated, and moved in that direction. If he could uncover some kind of transport, even if it was only a motor and some parts he could assemble before the children woke up…

"What are you doing?"

Data jumped.

"Ishta!" he gasped. "You should be sleeping!"

"So should you," she retorted, and stared at the large, crater-like dent in the sand. "You're not still moping about leaving those idiots behind, are you?"

"I regret what happened here very deeply, Ishta," he said somberly. "But no, I am not 'moping.' I was wondering if we might not be able to locate some means of transport in these ruins."

Ishta's eyebrows raised.

"So we wouldn't have to hike across this flaming desert?" she said. "That would be good. But, how could we hope to find anything under all this sand?"

"I was rather hoping the sandstorm might have revealed…"

He trailed off, moving rather cautiously toward a slight glint he saw gleaming in the moonlight.

"Data?" Ishta hurried after him. "What is it? What do you see?"

"Stay back," the android warned, holding a hand out behind him to stay her progress. "The ground over the ruins is quite unstable. I would not want you to fall through."

"Well, what about you?" Ishta shouted. "You're way heavier than I am!"

"I am an android," Data said, hopping nimbly from one relatively stable spot to another. "My visual acuity, balance, and reflexes are far sharper than those of any organic humanoid. And I am far less likely to suffer injury were I to fall some ten to twelve feet. Now please, stay where you are and allow me to concentrate."

Ishta muttered darkly to herself, but stayed put, frowning as she watched Data pause by a glint of shiny something, then crouch down and start digging around it with his hands.

"What is it?" she called out.

"It may be a power cell!" he called back. "Allow me a moment to find out!"

Ishta rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but submitted to waiting without further protest.

Before long, Data had pulled three power cells and a detached antigrav unit from the sand. He returned briefly to pile them beside Ishta then, moving further on, he got down on his hands and knees and brushed the sand from something round and flat that looked rather like a manhole cover.

"Hey, what's going on?" Kahlestra asked, coming up beside Ishta.

The Orion stared, then glared, moving to block Kahlestra's view of Data.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded. "Where's the robot and that kid?"

"Howard and Mikey are still at the camp," Kahlestra said, trying to peer around the taller girl's shoulders. "I wanted to see where you and Data had got to."

"Well, now you know," Ishta snarled. "Go back to sleep."

"No way," Kahlestra said. "I can help!"

"Whatever you do, stay back and keep quiet," Data called to them. "I have found a way inside. Please wait and do not attempt to follow me."

"Oh, come on!" Ishta protested. "You can't seriously expect—"

"I am quite serious," Data said. "Promise me you will stay where you are."

Ishta's nostrils flared and she clenched her fists, but she swallowed her outrage and stepped back.

"Yeah, OK," she grumbled.

Kahlestra nodded.

"We promise."

Data nodded once, then lifted the manhole cover with some effort and climbed down the rungs into the darkness below.

The girls waited, first standing, then pacing along the edge of the prominent dint in the sand. After a long while, a strange rumbling thrumming started up and the ground began to vibrate just slightly.

"Don't tell me it's another quake," Ishta said.

"I don't think so," Kahlestra said, tilting her head, her senses on full alert. "It doesn't sound right."

She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted: "Data? Data, are you OK down there?"

They waited, straining to hear any sort of response, but all they heard was that low, rumbling thrum: one after another after another.

"Come on, Data, this isn't funny!" Ishta shouted. "Get back out here, right now, or I'm coming in after you!"

"You can't do that," Kahlestra said, grabbing the girl's arm. "We gave our word."

"Like that's supposed to stop me?" Ishta said, shrugging her off and striding forward, straight toward the unstable ruins.

"Don't!"

Kahlestra grabbed her again, trying to pull her back, but Ishta gripped the younger girl's arm and flipped her, hard, into the sand. Kahlestra groaned, but rolled to her feet, wincing as she stretched the bruised muscles in her neck and shoulder.

Baring her teeth in a snarl, the young Klingon lunged at the Orion, tackling her around the middle and sending them both crashing into the sand. Ishta fought back, scissoring the younger girl with her legs and struggling to wrestle her way to the top. The two combatants rolled over and over, each focused on gaining the advantage – not where their battle was taking them. They tumbled into the crater-like dent, the damaged concrete below them cracking and splintering as they moved, until the sensation of falling startled the pair out of their fight.

They found themselves caught in a choking waterfall of sand and concrete chunks with barely time to cry out before they landed in a heap, coughing and spitting and pushing each other away.

"Oh, my God!" Data yelped and raced to help them. "Oh my God, are you all right? Are you injured?"

Kahlestra hacked and spat out more sand, but shook her head.

"No, I'm OK," she said hoarsely.

"Yeah, me too," Ishta rasped, and coughed.

Data's expression shifted from terrified concern to livid anger, his yellow eyes seeming to flame in the moonlight that filtered down from above.

"What the hell do you two think you were doing!" he shouted. "You damn near scared the life out of me! Did I not expressly order you to stay out of this unstable area? Did you not promise me – to my face – that you would accede to the directive I set forth?"

"If you mean, did we break our promise, then yeah, we did," Ishta said, running her tongue over her teeth, then spitting out the grit. "But only because you weren't answering us!"

"I did not hear you call," Data said.

"Yeah, well, I did," Ishta insisted, crossing her arms tightly and kicking at the piled sand. "But don't worry, _android_. Next time, I won't bother."

Kahlestra glared at the older girl.

"You are such a _jerk_!" she snapped, and turned to Data. "Yes, we shouted, but _she_ was the one who walked into the unstable area. I tried to stop her, but she kept moving forward. _That's_ why this happened. _I_ never intended to break my word!"

Data closed his eyes and pursed his lips, turning his head away until he managed to get a grip on his temper. He'd never experienced a scare quite like that...in fact, his insides still felt oddly weak and shaky. Part of him wanted to reach out and pull the girls close, to apologize for his outburst, to reassure himself, and them, that they were all OK. But there was also a powerful impulse to continue scolding, to drill an understanding into them that such reckless disrespect for his authority and their own safety was entirely unacceptable.

Ultimately, though, his rational nature won out over his tug-of-war emotions and he sighed through his nose, straightening his posture and responding with the simple truth.

"I believe you, Kay," he said quietly. "And you, Ishta. And, I am extremely relieved that the two of you are unhurt. I understand that you are both quite young and still lack the capacity to fully control your impulses, but I did hope that I could trust you to remain on your own for a few minutes."

"You _can_ trust me!" Kahlestra exclaimed. "This only happened because—"

Data held up a hand.

"Please, stop," he said. "You are both to blame for this incident. As am I, for not being more diligent about your supervision. We will all have to do better. But, since you are here now, come see what I have found."

The two girls followed but avoided each other's eyes, each muttering dark mutterings about the other under their breath.

"I can hear you whispering, you know," Data said from up ahead. "I do wish you girls could learn to get along. So much can be gained in friendship…I do not understand why you continue to expend so much energy on animosity. Ah—"

He stopped short, and the girls stopped too, staring blindly at the darkness. This far underground, Data provided the only light, his form an odd, blinking outline of a head with floating hands. He bent down, lifted something, and the girls squinted against the onslaught of a sudden, blinding light that slowly resolved into a hand-held lantern.

"Yow," Ishta winced. "You could have given us some warning, you know."

"Apologies," Data said. "Has your vision adjusted to the light?"

"Yeah, it's OK," Kahlestra said. "What did you want us to…see…"

She trailed off, staring in amazement at four large sand speeders and two wheeled ATVs parked on a ramp near a collapsed exit.

"Oh, fantastic!" she cheered. "Do they work?"

"They do," Data confirmed. "I tested each of them to make sure."

Ishta and Kahlestra looked at each other, realizing that must have been source of the thrumming sounds they'd heard.

"And with the spare antigrav unit and power cells I already excavated," Data went on, "we should have no concerns about reaching our destination."

"I can think of one," Ishta said. "These things are huge! And this ramp is totally blocked. How the hell are we supposed to get them out of here?"

Data smiled.

"Ironically, you have already provided the solution to that particular conundrum," he said.

Ishta wrinkled up her face, then frowned, then stared.

"No way," she said. "You don't mean—"

"Up and out," Data said, and pointed down the tunnel toward the hole the girls had made when they fell.

"But this tunnel's totally unstable!" Ishta exclaimed. "If we burst through the ceiling, the whole thing will collapse!"

"We only need one vehicle," Data pointed out. "But even though the roof of this tunnel is already quite destabilized, executing this maneuver without damaging the vehicle we choose will be tricky. If you wish to exit now, I would advise you stand at least fifty meters away from—"

"Uh uh, no way," Kahlestra said. "If you're going to do this, we're riding with you. Right, Ishta?"

Ishta shuffled a few steps toward the ladder rungs that led to the manhole cover above.

"Well, actually, I might—"

Kahlestra smirked.

"So, you're a chicken after all."

Ishta bit the inside of her cheek and fixed the younger girl with a piercing glare. Striding past both her and Data, she ran her hand over the smooth side of the nearest sand speeder until she found the door latch, then opened it and slipped into the front passenger seat.

"Ooh," Kahlestra snarled. "That's just not fair. I should get front seat! You didn't even want to go!"

"Yeah, well, first come, first served," Ishta shot back. "Looks like you're in the back."

Kahlestra huffed angrily.

"Data, you can't let her—"

"You're right, I can't," Data interrupted firmly. "Federation traffic laws regarding civilian transport by sand speeder dictate all children under the age of sixteen must sit in the back seat. Ishta, I am afraid you will be sitting beside Kahlestra."

Kahlestra looked triumphant.

Ishta looked suspicious.

"You just made that up," she accused.

"You are welcome to prove that," Data said. "But, until you can provide the relevant evidence, you will be required to ride in the back."

Ishta scowled, but clambered into the back seat. Kahlestra followed. Data took his place behind the controls, a rather smug look creasing his silvery face.

The look didn't last long.

"You suck, you know that," Ishta muttered to Kahlestra.

"Well you—" Kahlestra started, but Data snapped; "Girls! Please strap yourselves in. The action we are about to take is quite dangerous. I would strongly advise you never to attempt this on your own."

Kahlestra snorted helplessly into her hand.

"What?" Ishta said. "What's wrong with you?"

"Did he seriously just say that?" Kahlestra giggled. "I seriously think he just said that!"

Data glanced curiously at her over his shoulder.

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You!" she exclaimed. "You seriously just went: 'Don't try this at home, kids!'"

She broke up laughing again. Ishta shook her head with a shrug. Data raised his eyebrows, and turned back to the front.

"Well," he said, and started the engine. "If you liked that, you should love this: 'Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy night…'"

Kahlestra snickered, but Ishta still looked blank.

"Bette Davis,_ All About Eve_, 1950," Data cited, and tapped at the controls, slowly easing the speeder off the ramp and into the narrow tunnel. He stared into the blackness ahead and took in a bracing breath, clamping back the computerish impulse to calculate the variables and probabilites associated with getting them through that jagged hole without incident. Those numbers were not important. Maintaining the girls' confidence was.

"OK, here we go…"

Under the android's precise ministrations, the sleek craft rapidly gained speed, slipping through the jagged hole in the tunnel roof so smoothly, Kahlestra literally blinked and missed it.

"Whoa..." Ishta gasped, a hand pressed to her chest. "That was... Wow!"

"Yeee-haw!"

Data let out a whoop of triumph, and both girls happily joined in, pausing only to load up the spare parts. They were all still laughing and whooping when the android settled the speeder down beside their little camp barely a minute later.

Mikey stirred, and Howard stood, taking up a protective stance beside the boy until the speeder's doors opened and he saw Data and the girls clamber out.

"So awesome," Kahlestra enthused. "By Kahless himself, that was _so_ awesome!"

"What happened?" Mikey asked anxiously, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Data found us a speeder, that's what's going on," Ishta said, and set about digging up their provision pack. "We're finally getting out of this stinking sandtrap."

"Indeed," Data said happily. "And, while I am aware such transport is illegal on this world, this is an emergency and our journey has now been shortened from a three day hike to a ride of less than an hour. Please, hop in!"

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References include TNG: Ethics; Transfigurations; Hero Worship; The Arsenal of Freedom; Encounter at Farpoint; Thine Own Self; that Nemesis movie; and Red Dwarf: Gunmen of the Apocalypse._

_Until next time! Your comments, reviews, opinions, notions, and criticisms are always welcome! :)_


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Thanks so much for your reviews, you've really helped me feel better, and more confident about where this story is going. :) Next time we'll see more of what Picard is up to, and there may be some action. Stay tuned!

Until then, here's:

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

The underground club pulsed and vibrated with moving colored lights and low bass thrums, its patrons huddled in close groups among the shadows. Scantily clad servers of various genders and species edged between the dingy bar and the battered tables, small, blinking implants at the base of their necks indicating they were slaves: property of the club's owner.

Two hulking figures, an Orion and a Nausicaan, burst through the heavy camouflage curtain that covered the entrance, shook the sand from their clothes and hair, and stomped down the worn, rock-hewn stairs. The Orion moved hesitantly, running his hand along the wall as he felt for each step with his heel, but the Nausicaan strode straight to the bar and slammed his armored fist on the counter, adding another dent to the stained and scratched-up surface.

"We are here," he slurred through his fangs. "Where is the Boss-man?"

"You're late. Father ain't happy with you boys."

The slinky, reptilian bartender spoke in a low, throaty voice, her narrow teeth studded with salt crystals. She ran her tongue over them, making a sucking, slurping sound that made the approaching Orion cringe.

She shot him a teasing glance, her scaly tail swaying behind her as she slunk out from under her dull, red heat lamp to join the two men.

"OK, so sucking salt's a nasty habit," she said, reaching over the counter to flick open a box about a quarter full of salt sticks and loose crystals. "But, why not try it before you knock it? Not all salts are table salt, baby, and Father stocks only the best blends. Four credits a hit."

"Get that stuff away from me, you Gorn junkie," the Orion growled and snapped the box closed.

The bartender propped her elbows on the box's lid and squinted at the Orion through the flickering, colored lights. His nose, one eye, and half his face were covered in a flexible, translucent bandage that didn't entirely hide his raw skin and newly-knitted scars.

"Naughty Rizzy, who chewed up your face?" she said. "Such a mess. No wonder you've been shuffling round here like a blind man without a VISOR."

"My face is none of your business," Rizzul snarled, and gave the Nausicaan a shove. "We'll be in the office. Let's move, 'Poug."

"Boss-man's there waiting," the bartender said in a languid sing-song, gesturing with a yellowed claw to the security board beside the credit reader. "Father's watching, always watching. 'S why Father knows everything."

The Orion seemed to pale, just slightly, and even the Nausicaan looked uncomfortable.

"Come on," the Orion grunted, and trailed the taller Nausicaan around the maze of tables and disorienting lights, past a scratched and smudged up wall mirror and through a thick, black curtain to the private room beyond.

It was dark there, and reeked of stale alcohol, vomit, and various other bodily fluids. A rustle of frantic movement met their approach, customers terrified of a raid scrambling to hide, to distance themselves from their hired Skins. The lumbering pair ignored the creeps and strode straight through, down a narrow, purple-lit passage to a tapered, sliding door.

"You do it," Rizzul said.

The Nausicaan grunted and pounded the wall buzzer.

There was a long pause.

A very long pause.

Then, a crackle of static preluded a low, quiet voice: "Enter."

The door slid open and they walked through, into a vast, high-domed cavern lit from below. Rare Ninevehan wall hangings and other expensive artifacts adorned the space in elegant, concentric circles, drawing the eye toward the room's main focal point: three interlocking rings of red couches, cushions, and computer consoles where the Boss-man held court, surrounded by his most loyal, most ambitious, and most efficient slaves.

"Well, well," the Boss-man said, his voice so quiet it forced the pair to move closer. "If it isn't Rizzul and Izjiem Poug, back from their visit to the emergency ward. I trust your face isn't troubling you too much, Rizzul."

"Father, we—" Rizzul started, but the Boss-man held up a slender, white-gloved hand.

"Your shift-partner, Nizik, was here before you, you know," he whispered, his face completely shaded by a white, brimmed hat. "He told us how you two _failed _to capture me that archaeologist woman I wanted, of your carelessness with that Klingon Skin - and of how the pair of you left your assigned posts to tend your resulting injuries! This is very sloppy, Rizzul. Sloppy can be dangerous to an operation like ours."

Rizzul swallowed, feeling his job security wobble treacherously and wishing he could see the Boss-man's eyes.

Everything the Boss-man wore was a crisp, clean white, from his turtleneck tunic and scarf to his polished leather boots – an affectation that made it all the harder to make out his shadowed features. Nearly all the people who saw him left with no clear image of the man, uncertain even of his species, though rumor had it he was an Orion afflicted with a rare vitiligo-like condition that turned his green skin white.

"I…I apologize, Father," Rizzul said. "I would have stayed, but 'Poug—"

"Just tell me you truly aren't aware," the Boss-man said, even more quietly than before.

"Aware of what?" Rizzul asked nervously.

"Aware of what happened," he whispered menacingly.

The Nausicaan frowned, thoroughly confused by the entire exchange.

"What has happened?" he slurred. "Why is Boss-man so angry with Rizzul and 'Poug?"

The Boss-man gestured to his entourage.

"My dears…if you would…"

"There was a quake," one of the female slaves said coldly. Her smooth head resembled a golden turtle, and there were no whites to her deep, black eyes.

"Nizik transported himself away when the shaking began," another slave said, a male with a dinosaur-like skull, rather resembling a protoceratops. "But he failed to retrieve Father's freshly ordered Skins."

The turtle-looking slave closed her eyes.

"When the tunnels collapsed, all of Father's merchandise was lost to the sands," she said. "We had an important buyer lined up. The buyer must now be told."

Rizzul and 'Poug shared an unsettled glance.

"Well, with luck, all this may not end in total loss," the Boss-man said, reclining back and folding his hands across his chest. "I'll need a couple of strong volunteers to head back to the site and determine what of mine can be salvaged. Can you volunteer," he directed his words at Rizzul, "or are you too injured to handle this task?"

"I'm fine, Father, I can work," Rizzul said. "But, where is Nizik? Surely, with his help—"

The Boss-man and his gathered slaves turned their gaze to a spot to their left.

Rizzul and the Nausicaan followed their pointed stares, and their eyes widened in horror.

What they saw hanging there…that wasn't an artifact or a tapestry. That was…

"Deities…" Rizzul gasped, and felt his stomach lurch.

The Nausicaan was still confused.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nizik's incompetence and cowardice lost me my Skins," the Boss-man said in his soft, quiet way. "I thought it only fair I take his in return. Fail me again, and I'll take yours to keep his company. Clear?"

"Yes, Father," the pair managed to choke.

"Then leave me," the Boss-man said, turning back to his other work. "Get out of my sight. And if any of my Skins did manage to escape, make sure you round them up and bring them to me here. If they can be retrained, all the better for you. If not, the two of you will pay the cost of their disposal."

"Yes, Father," the pair muttered again, and started to back out of the room.

"Oh-one more thing," the Boss-man whispered, holding up a single, staying finger.

The Orion and the Nausicaan froze in their tracks.

"Your friend Nizik mentioned a robot. Can either of you tell me anything more about it?"

Rizzul shook his head.

"We only had one activated robot in stock - that domestic service droid, Howard."

"No, Nizik said you'd collected another," the Boss-man insisted.

Rizzul furrowed his brow.

"No, I never..."

"Robot?" 'Poug repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I know robot! It is Federation's robot! Federation robot tried to fight 'Poug, but fell to the transporter gun!"

"Indeed..."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while the Boss-man tapped at his console. Rizzul fidgeted, then managed: "Father? May we..."

"Go, yes, go," the Boss-man said. "And don't come back without my goods."

The pair nodded and fled, the chill in the Boss-man's voice clinging to their skin long after they'd burst back into the desert sun.

_To Be Continued…_

_References include TNG: Unification I/II.  
_

_Is it OK? Too gross? 'Cause, I don't know, I've never written this story before. What do you think? Reviews welcome! :)_


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Nat lifted his lantern, straining to see over Picard's shoulder.

"The dampening field is interfering with this resonating drill," the captain said, handing the useless tool over to Riker and scooting closer to the opalescent wall, running his fingers over the lines and grooves in the metal.

Freja took the drill from the commander and turned it over in her hands, turning it on and off a few times as if to confirm Picard's diagnosis.

"So weird," she said, frowning. "All these tools have independent power cells, like the lamps, and the lamps are working just fine."

"Well, the drill is sonic," Nat said. "It could be that, apart from the electromagnetic aspect that messes with our communications and computer devices, the dampening field also emits some kind of sub- or ultra-sonic frequencies."

"Speculation," Tu'Pari said. "At least, until we get back to the compound. If the drill works there, out of range of this field, it could indicate that—"

Picard let out a slight, victorious snort.

"Find something?" Freja asked eagerly.

"It feels like…this could be an access port," the captain said distractedly. "If I can just…"

He traced his fingers over the outline of what seemed to be a rectangular panel in the opalescent metal plating that covered the wall, the reflections from the lantern light rendering it barely visible. Carefully, Picard slid his fingernails into the hairline slit, his face clenching with effort…

"Oh!" Freja gasped, covering her mouth with her fingers. "Oh, don't damage the etchings!"

"He's nowhere near the etchings," Nat said.

"We don't know that," Freja retorted. "It's only a guess that this rectangle shape is an access port. It may be a symbol, or part of a larger—"

Picard released a low grunt and a thin layer of metal came away from the wall, swinging out and to the left, like a cabinet door.

The group leaned in, eager to see what lay beyond…

"It looks like some kind of control board," Tu'Pari observed, a slightly raised eyebrow the only outward indication of his excitement. "But, the symbols are unfamiliar to me."

"To me as well," Picard said, reverently tracing the raised glyphs. "The panel appears to be constructed of the same material as the rest of this wall."

He pressed one of the symbols, and a low, resonating tone vibrated their ears.

"Interesting," Tu'Pari commented, leaning in to tap another. This time, the tone was higher, the resonance causing the dust in the air to dance in the lantern light.

"Well," Nat noted. "The dampening field didn't interfere with that."

Riker frowned.

"If I remember right," he said, "didn't the Preserver object Kirk's _Enterprise_ encountered respond to a musical tone-based code?"

"So it did, Number One," Picard said, his eyes shining. "If all this was truly left here by the Preservers, it may be that to gain access to whatever may be behind this wall, we must first determine which tones to play—"

"And, in which order," Nat interjected. "According to the archive records I've seen, the object Kirk activated responded to the chirp of his communicator, followed by a brief, spoken phrase. What if this panel requires, not only mechanical tones, but specific vocal modulations as well?"

"A fascinating theory," Tu'Pari said, a slight frown creasing his lips. "I suggest we record holographic images of these new symbols and run them through the computer system back at the compound – well out of range of this dampening field."

"Logical," Freja said, smiling despite the disappointment in her eyes. "_And_, I believe, your second hint in as many minutes that it's past time we head back to the compound. Forget to eat lunch again?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, but did not deny her allegation.

Freja's smile broadened briefly, then she sighed.

"Oh, well. Looks like there'll be no great breakthrough tonight after all. How's that sandstorm coming?"

"I believe it has passed," Tu'Pari said, cocking his head to listen for any lingering sign of heavy winds outside the tunnel.

"Then, we should be heading back," Picard agreed, though his expression rather mirrored Freja's reluctance to leave their discovery uncracked. "Do you need any help recording these images?"

"No, the holorecorders we have are pretty old tech – the dampening field hardly affects them at all," Nat said.

"Well, apart from those weird shadows we've seen on a few of the images," Freja noted. "But those only show up when one of us is in the shot."

"Shadows?" Picard asked curiously.

"I'll show you when we get back to the compound," Nat said, snapping a few holo images, then stepping back to allow Tu'Pari to take a few more with his own recording device. "It's no big deal, really, probably just an effect caused by the lights reflecting off this wall panel. All set, Tu'Pari?"

"I believe we have sufficient material to work with, for now," the Vulcan responded.

"Then, I'm heading out of this hole and straight to the nearest replicator," Nat said. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been craving a hot Reuben sandwich all day, and if I don't get one soon my brain just may go on strike."

"It must be long past suppertime by now," Freja agreed. "We all need a good meal, and we really should see how poor Kurak is doing."

"Agreed," Picard said, and gently swung the access panel door back into place, while Nat took pictures of its shape and position. "Let's each take a lantern and get going."

"Very well," Tu'Pari said, slinging his holorecorder's strap over his shoulder. "I shall see to the horses and join you directly."

"Perhaps it would be better if we all went with you to the stables," Riker suggested. "With everything that's happened today, it might not be the best idea to separate."

"I am quite capable of attending to the animals myself," Tu'Pari stated rather flatly.

"Stable duty's always been Tu'Pari's job around here," Nat explained to Picard and Riker. "It might seem a little strange, Vulcans and horses, but they seem to have developed a kind of bond."

"I believe I understand," Picard said with a small smile. "But I agree with Commander Riker. Let's all go to the stables first, then back to the compound for our supper."

The scientists muttered a little, but ultimately shrugged and led the way out of the tunnels and into a surprisingly cold, starry night.

* * *

A sleek, two-man speeder cut across the sandy desert on a direct tangent from the tents and concrete structures of the capital city to the ruined tunnels that, only hours before, had served as a key smuggling hub, the vehicle's headlights causing the sand ahead to shimmer like diamond dust.

"Hey, 'Poug." Rizzul said to the driver, rapping his knuckles against the front windshield. "Is my eye playing tricks, or does that dent in the sand up ahead look like a speeder track to you? A speeder track leading _away_ from the tunnels?"

"Left by Nizik?" the Nausicaan supposed in his thick, heavy voice.

"Nah, that track's way too fresh," Rizzul said. "Besides, it's aimed at that giant Stairway, not the city. Maybe the big man was right about some of those Skins escaping before the tunnels collapsed."

"Then, we follow?" 'Poug inquired.

"We do if we don't want to end up like old Nizik," Rizzul said. "The Boss-man wants his property back. It's our job to collect it for him. You remember to load those phaser rifles?"

"In the back," the Nausicaan said, and thumped the back of his chair.

Rizzul reached into the dark, narrow space behind the seats and groped around until his hand grasped a cool rifle barrel. He pulled the phaser rifle up onto his lap and checked the charge, his damaged face creasing in satisfaction.

"We're set to go," he said. "Quick, 'Poug,' put on some speed! With any luck, we can bag some Skins _and_ those Federation scientists the boss wanted before the moons begin to sink."

_To Be Continued..._

_References include TOS: The Paradise Syndrome.  
_

_Next Time: Some Action! Stay Tuned! :)_

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

:D :D :D


	18. Chapter Eighteen

MAINTENANCE COMPLETE! (and some grammar check stuff too)

Thanks so much for your feedback! :) :) :)

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

"Howard," Data said as he piloted the speeder, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the children, sleeping in the back seat. "Do you find the monotony of this dark, desert landscape to have a strangely hypnotic effect?"

"I am Howard: an HDD-421 Series Robot," Howard stated from the seat beside him, his chirpy announcer-voice equally low. "I cannot be hypnotized, frustrated, or bored. I am here to serve."

"Right, of course," Data said, and shook his head. "It's just me, then. But, I am not bored. Quite the opposite. My mind is running along so many different tracks…not all of which I want to contemplate. I keep…worrying… What are we to find when we reach the compound? The attack was quite violent…can I assume it ended when they kidnapped me? Were my friends similarly captured, but sent elsewhere…to serve as Slaves rather than Skins? And, what of the archaeologists? Kahlestra's mother? Our poor, frightened horses… We still do not know just what the attackers were after."

Howard sat still as a statue, his glowing gaze fixed straight ahead.

"Howard?" Data prompted, anxious for some feedback. Perhaps…reassurance. At the very least, a bit of genuine conversation.

The robot turned his head to face him.

"My name is Howard," Howard said. "I am here to serve. How may I serve you?"

Data stared at the robot, rather stricken by his complete lack of…anything, really. Empathy, curiosity, concern… Even before the emotion chip, Data knew…at least, he sincerely _hoped_…he had not come across to others as so…blank… Yet, Howard—

Had the robot even been listening? Was his Orion-tech, duotronic brain capable of understanding the meaning, the nonverbal subtexts, that lurked behind spoken words?

From the start, Data had seen aspects of his own mechanical nature and mannerisms reflected in Howard. Enough to raise his hopes – to make him wonder if, perhaps, he wasn't quite so alone after all.

Now, however…

A sense of crushing disappointment washed over the android, and he felt his expression tighten. Talking with Howard…well, attempting to talk… It brought into painfully sharp relief just how unique he truly was…among machines as well as men.

He snorted slightly and shook his head. _Spot_ was more perceptive, and responsive, than the cybernetic construct beside him. But then Spot, like Data and Data's other biological friends, was sentient.

Perhaps he would find his remaining time with Howard less frustrating if he stopped trying to _communicate_ with the robot and, instead, addressed him as he would the similarly non-sentient _Enterprise_ computer.

"Never mind, Howard," he said.

"I am here to serve," Howard stated, and his gaze returned to the front.

Data sighed and stared out at the acres and acres of moonlit sand stretching before them, his anxious mind again propelling his thoughts in speculative circles as he drummed his metal fingers against the steering wheel: _Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. _

_Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. _

_Tap tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap. _

_Tap tap tap tap…_

He caught his attention drifting and quickly straightened in his seat, muttering an irritable admonition under his breath. His mind had never been so misty before the damned chip… Or could this woolly-headed feeling be another symptom of his dangerously low power reserves?

"I would very much appreciate some music at this juncture," he said, still keeping his voice quiet. "But, the children need their sleep. I do not wish to disturb them. Yet, if I do not find some mental distraction, and soon, I fear I may lose focus entirely and slip into a daydream. Howard…"

"I am Howard," Howard responded. "How may I be of service?"

"Are you familiar with travel games?" Data asked.

"I am here to serve," Howard said, his blue photoelectric cells glowing brightly in the dimness. "Accessing…Games. My programming includes travel games popular on Orion Prime."

"I wish to play 'Imaginary Bubbles,'" Data said. "It is one of my favorites, a fast-paced game of mathematics centered on the minimal surface equation: a nonlinear equation involving powers and products of derivatives that, essentially, encodes the peculiar behavior of soap films. I start, by—"

Howard made a soft buzz-like sound, indicating a failure to process Data's input.

"I am Howard, your helpful domestic droid," he stated. "The phrase 'minimal surface equation'," for the quote, he played back a recording of Data's voice, "is not included in my programming. How may I be of service?"

Data grimaced, and briefly closed his eyes.

"Fine, yes, of course," he said, his shoulders falling once again into a grumpy hunch. "Howard, please provide a list of available travel games."

"My programming includes travel games popular on Orion Prime," Howard repeated. "These games are: Astronaut Challenge; Captain Korg; Capital Cities; FerengiCasino8; I Spy; Thermal—"

A rocking jolt jarred the vehicle, knocking it sharply off course. Data quickly compensated, but the lurching convulsion shook the children awake, and they cried out in alarm and pain as a second jolt slammed them against each other.

"Ow—hey! What the hell!" Ishta exclaimed, pushing a disoriented Kahlestra off her arm. "Stay on your side!"

"Did we hit something?" Mikey asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes.

"No," Data said, running his gaze over the diagnostic readout. "There appears to be a fault in the primary power converter. Most likely a result of deliberate tampering...either to discourage the theft or unauthorized use of this vehicle — or possibly done in hopes of selling the same vehicle over and over again, counting on the malfunction to ensure it would be returned."

"What does that mean?" Ishta demanded.

"It means..." he said, glancing at her over his shoulder. "...that we cannot continue to the compound until we repair the converter."

Data tightened his grip on the shaking steering wheel, struggling to hold in his frustration. The Orions who had been storing the speeder were smugglers, cons! Why hadn't he considered this contingency?

"Where are we?" Kahlestra asked blearily, covering a yawn with her hand.

"Approximately twelve kilometers from our destination," Data informed her.

"Good grief," the young Klingon said. "Another ten minutes or so and we'd be home free. How long will these repairs take?"

"Not long," Data said, wrangling the juddering vehicle toward the closest thing to cover he could spot - a small outcropping of weathered rocks and dry cacti. "There is an emergency kit in the back storage compartment. I estimate the necessary repairs shouldn't take more than half an hour."

"You 'estimate'?" Ishta said snarkily. "Isn't your brain supposed to be some kind of fancy-pants computer?"

Data's expression tensed, but he refused to give her the reaction she wanted.

"I don't understand why you insist on provoking confrontation," he said, "but now is not the time for goading taunts. I promised I would take you to safety, and I will. Until then, we must work together, as a team, no matter what challenges obstruct our path."

Ishta rolled her eyes in utter exasperation.

"Whatever," she said as the speeder slowed to a stop, then lowered rather jerkily to the sandy ground. "I need a bathroom break anyway."

Kahlestra wrinkled her nose at the older girl.

"_Jerk_," she grunted under her breath.

"We have no need for insults either," Data told her, and opened the doors. "Now, you children can stay in here or come out and stretch your legs for a time, but I advise you to stay within sight of each other, and the speeder."

"In other words," Kahlestra said, and smirked, "don't wander off."

"Precisely," Data said, smiling slightly. "Howard, I will need you to help hold the tools."

"I am here to serve," Howard announced, and the five of them piled out of the speeder.

* * *

"Think he knows he's muttering to himself?" Ishta said, kicking at the sand.

"Who, Data?" Kahlestra said, and glanced at the android - a blinking metal construct with its head deep in the engine of another. "Probably not."

"I don't get it," Ishta said, making gouges with her toe, then kicking the excess sand toward the rocks. "Why would anyone build a thing like him?"

"He said why," Mikey spoke up. "His father wanted a son."

"That's stupid," Ishta said, and leaned against the rock-side with a huff. "Everyone would know he wasn't the guy's real son. That he couldn't be..."

Mikey regarded her.

"You like him," he said.

"You're an idiot," Ishta retorted.

"I am not. You _really_ like him!" Mikey asserted, and started backing away from her aggressive glare, a smug, teasing smile stretching over his thin little face. "I bet that's why you and Kay keep fighting. You both like Data and you don't want to say!"

"Don't be stupid!" the girls objected, absolutely outraged.

"He's a machine!"

"He's...old!"

"Way old."

"Gotta be more than thirty."

"Way more."

"And besides," Ishta said. "I bet he doesn't even have a pe—"

"Ishta!" Kahlestra exclaimed, pressing a scandalized hand to her mouth. "You shouldn't talk like that. It's disrespectful."

"Why?" the Orion said. "Just think about it. You're a Klingon and you're acting like this. Do you seriously think a _human _would build a machine with a working—"

"Stop it!" Kahlestra shrieked. "Just... Yuck! Just stop!"

"I rest my case," Ishta said, and smugly crossed her arms. "Besides, I already tested him."

Kahlestra stared.

"You what?"

"Oh, don't worry," the Orion said. "He wasn't interested."

"Well, duh!" Kahlestra exclaimed. "You're fourteen! He may be a machine, but he's not a perv." She bared her teeth in disgust at the older girl. "You, I'm not so sure about," she said.

Ishta shrugged and flicked her hair over her shoulder.

"Think what you want," she said, heading for the speeder.

"Hey, where are you going?" Kahlestra called after her.

"To ask _him_," she called back.

"_Kahless!_" Kahlestra hissed. "She really is a freak!"

She glanced at Mikey, who seemed to be enjoying the whole scene way too much.

"Oh, shut up," she said, and hurried after Ishta. Mikey followed...once he managed to contain his snickers. He caught up just in time to hear Ishta ask her question.

"Data?" she said, leaning casually against the speeder and peering in at the engine the android was busily, and quite efficiently, repairing.

"Stop!" Kahlestra shouted, rather breathlessly. "Ignore, her, Data. She's a pig! A filthy-minded Orion pig!"

Data straightened and faced the three children, his brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to interpret their wildly differing expressions: one smug, one horrified, and one teetering on the brink of giggles.

"I beg your pardon?" he said.

"It's no big deal," Ishta said, her blue eyes fixed on the darkly blushing Kahlestra. "I was just going to ask you if—"

"Ishta, don't!"

"If you've ever been in love," Ishta finished, speaking right over the Klingon's protest.

Kahlesta blinked, and stood down.

"Oh..." she said.

Ishta smirked, and winked at Mikey.

Data regarded them all, certain he had missed something but not quite willing to ask what.

"Do you want the truth?" he asked them.

"Yes," Ishta said quickly. Kahlestra just nodded.

"Then, no," he admitted. "I have never been in love. At least...not yet."

"Then you _can _fall in love," Ishta pressed. "That is, you can actually—"

"Good grief!" Kahlestra exclaimed, burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.

Data frowned at her, even more befuddled than before.

"I am fully functional, if that is your question," he said - causing Mikey to snort laughter through his nose.

"'Fully functional'!" he giggled.

"Does that mean you can pee?" Ishta asked, starting to catch the giggles too.

"Can you _fart_?" Mikey asked, nearly choking on his amusement.

"I have never attempted either of those functions," Data informed them, rather primly, "and I am beginning to suspect you children are making fun of me."

"No, no, we're not," Kahlestra said, still blushing furiously. "I promise we're not! I guess we just...want to know more about you. That's all."

"Hm..." Data grunted, not entirely convinced. He wiped his metal fingers on a cloth Howard held out to him, and closed the speeder's hood. "The repairs are complete and I have inserted a fresh power cell. If you children are ready, we can now complete our journey to the compound."

"I'm ready," Ishta said, and swung easily back into the speeder.

"Me too," Mikey said, and climbed in after her.

Kahlestra hesitated by the door.

"You're not mad...are you, Data?" she asked.

"Mad?" Data repeated. "As in 'angry'? 'Offended'?"

"Yeah," Kahlestra said.

Data smiled at her.

"No," he said. "Actually, upon consideration, I think I'm rather flattered."

Kahlestra wrinkled her nose.

"Flattered?"

"Yes," Data said. "Personal questions are asked of people. Have you asked many computer systems if they can pee?"

Kahlestra snickered.

"No, of course not."

Data's smile broadened, then slowly faded.

"Do not worry about me, Kay," he said. "While it is true that I have yet to experience romantic love...even familial love... I have known the love that comes with friendship. I know what it is to care for someone. I have come to care for each of you children quite deeply."

He climbed into the driver's seat but, before he could close the door, Kahlestra hopped up and kissed his metal cheek.

"Hey, Data," she said, "I love you too."

While Data blinked in surprise, Kahlestra climbed in the back, shooting Ishta a rather smug look as she fastened her seat belt for the ride home.

* * *

_When I fall in love_

_It will be forever_

_Or I'll never fall in love..._

_In a restless world, like this is_

_Love is ended before it's begun_

_And too many moonlight kisses_

_Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun..._

_If I give my heart_

_It will be completely_

_Or I'll never give my heart..._

_And the moment_

_I can feel_

_That you feel that way too_

_Is when I'll fall in love with you..._

"That song's really beautiful," Mikey sighed sleepily. "Where's it from?"

"Earth," Data told him, quite enjoying the cozy hush that had fallen over the speeder's cabin in the few minutes since they'd resumed their trip. The warm sense of...peace...belonging... It was a new experience for him, one he hoped would last. "It was Ishta's questions that made me think of it. The song is very old, dating from Earth's mid-twentieth century. Yet, somehow, I find that the sentiment it expresses...speaks to me."

Mikey nodded, and rested his head against the cool window.

"I remember...when I was really small," he said softly. "My dad used to sing like that to help me go to sleep. Do you think...you could sing it again, Data? I mean...you don't have to. I just..."

"I would be happy to sing to you, Mikey," Data assured him. "I'll sing it quietly so—"

A red flash lit the night and the speeder rocked violently, shattering the moment. Data turned at once to the controls, but the impact had shaken everyone out of their warm and muzzy thoughts.

"Data, what's happening!" Kahlestra exclaimed. "Is it the power converter again?

"No," Data said, alarm making his voice seem clipped. "Someone is shooting at us! I am initiating evasive maneuvers. Please stay in your seats, and remain calm!"

"'Remain calm,' he says," Ishta scoffed, and undid her seatbelt, kneeling on the seat to peer out the rear window.

"Hey, sit down!" Kahlestra snapped. "Didn't you hear—"

"By the deities..." the Orion girl said, pointedly ignoring the younger Klingon. "Data's right! There's another speeder following us!"

"Is it them?" Mikey asked anxiously. "The other two guards? Do they know we escaped? Does... Could Father know?"

"Now is not the time for speculation," Data said, his hands flying over the control panel as he skilfully dodged blast after blinding blast. "Speculation without fact will only lead to worry."

"Speculation, hell," Ishta said. "I can say it's those guards for sure! That's 'Poug driving and Rizzul shooting. I recognize that slaver bastard even with that nasty patch over his face."

She turned back around, digging between the seats in search of their own phaser rifle.

"Let's kill them, Data," she said as she searched. "Swing this crate around and let me blow out Rizzul's good eye!"

Kahlestra stared, unsure whether to feel impressed or disturbed by the older girl's vehemence...not that she didn't share the sentiment.

"What you propose is neither possible nor advisable," Data said. "Our phaser rifle is stowed in the back compartment, along with our provisions and extra power cells."

"Wait - are you saying we don't have any weapons!" Ishta exclaimed.

"I am saying we do not have direct access to a phaser," Data corrected, the children moaning despite their terror as he continued to swerve the speeder right and left, up and down, at increasingly frightening velocities. "In times of necessity, nearly anything can be used as a weapon."

"Like what?" Ishta demanded, leaning over his chair's back. "There's nothing in here, and there's certainly nothing out there! We might as well just crack a window and spit at them!"

"Ishta, sit down and fasten your seat belt! Now!" Data ordered, shooting her a rather wild-eyed glare. Surprised, Ishta actually did. "Believe it or not," he said, "I do have a plan - not to execute our pursuers, but capture them for questioning."

Ishta snorted.

"You're kidding, right? You can't expect to _capture _two of the Boss-man's best henchmen in a clunky speeder with no phasers, no—"

"Did I _ask_ whether it was possible?" Data snapped. He shook his head sightly and tightened his grip on the wheel.

"Apologies, Ishta, this burst of temper I am experiencing is not directed at you," he said, his golden eyes fixed on a cluster of tall, undulating sand dunes just ahead. "It is just...that we should be attacked, so close to our destination—!" He shook his head. "This anger is fresh, but...I think... It is quite possible the frustration fueling it has been building for a long time. Perhaps years, perhaps my entire life... Still, I am _feeling _it now, truly _feeling _it, and I have no wish to stop until it all comes out!"

He put on a fresh burst of speed that pressed the children helplessly against the back of their seats, the towering dunes looming ever closer as he spoke.

"I have been pursued many times. Captured, 'collected,' manipulated, treated as an object, an appliance, a trophy, a possession, a _thing_! That Orion smuggler, Nizik, certainly viewed me as a commodity. At least, until he bothered to talk with me. That is when fear overtook 'familiarity.'"

He shook his head, and frowned.

"In fact, from the moment I first opened my eyes on Omicron Theta, I have been perceived by those around me as an unsettling contradiction; forced to straddle the walls humanoid societies tend to construct between concepts such as 'mechanical' and 'living,' 'life-like' and 'life form...' So, I sit alone, in a class by myself, and I hate it!"

His shoulders tensed and his expression hardened, the lights in his skull seeming to blink faster in the dimness.

"Do you know what Commander Riker said to me when we first met?" he said bitterly, speaking more to himself than his companions. "He presumed my Starfleet rank was honorary! Some _token_ title I had been _assigned_. He had read through my file, but somehow it had slipped past his attention that an _android _might actually be an Academy graduate, same as him, that I had _worked_ my way up the science track_, earned_ a command position aboard the Federation's flagship!

"Of course, such presumptions were nothing new. Humans have been projecting their prejudices onto me for as long as I can remember, and each time I have wondered, what is wrong with _me _that they should treat me so? What am _I _missing, that I should be continually second-guessed, put down, taken for granted, patronized, infantilized, and otherwise blatantly _diminished_ by a galaxy of ignorant, hypocritical, tech-phobic _organisms _I only ever sought to protect!"

He snarled and pulled back on the controls, lurching the speeder almost straight up. The children made small, frightened noises, turning their heads to watch the speeder behind them match their speed and angle, but they didn't dare interrupt Data's rant.

"They are all guilty of these behaviors, in one way or another," he went on. "Riker, Troi...Captain Picard! Maddox wishes to dismantle you for study, Data? - well, I have to consider Starfleet's interests! Your child is not a child, Data, it's an _invention_!"

He snorted through his nose, ignoring the sudden stinging in his eyes. Kahlestra blinked and shared a startled glance with Ishta, but they both kept silent.

"Even my brother is not classified in Starfleet's records as a madman, but as Soong's _failed experiment_!" he cried, hurt and anger tightening his voice as he continued their dangerously steep climb. "Yet, he may have had a point. Starfleet _does _see me more as a 'puppet' than a person. For all my achievements, my so-called _rights_, my fundamental situation is the same now as it was when I was first discovered. Sure, you can join up with us, the admirals say, but you can't sit at our table. Of course we accept you, they claim. Just keep to your station and don't look up! Geordi, Troi and Worf have all been promoted, Commander Riker has been offered ship after ship, but me? I subvert the Borg, bring scheming Romulans out into the light, but do I get offers of promotion? Glowing features in the newsfeeds? Oh no - my achievements make admirals nervous: an android can't be trusted to command on its own! So, they stick a commendation in my file, issue a token medal to add to my collection...

"Well, guess what, Starfleet Command!" he shouted at the windscreen. "The fact that I am _other_ than human does not inherently make me _less _than human! That I was constructed rather than born does not automatically imply I have no living soul! I will end this pursuit and take the perpetrators into custody, I will do it _my_ way, and you children will see first-hand that my emotions have in no way hindered my ability to perform my duties as a Federation citizen, and a Starfleet Officer! Now stay still, and hold on tight! The maneuvers I am about to execute are extremely dangerous."

"Why did he have to say 'execute'," Mikey moaned, clutching his stomach as the speeder seemed to stop short, hovering just at the peak of the tallest sand dune as if _waiting_ for the pursuing craft to catch up.

"What is he_ doing_?" Ishta squeaked under her breath. "They'll be back in shooting range in a minute—"

"Calm down," Kahlestra whispered. "Listen to the engine! I think I know what he has in mind..."

* * *

"What are they doing?" Rizzul said, squinting through the dusty windshield as their speeder rocketed up the side of the sandy dune. "Why are they just _hovering _there?"

"Maybe they give up?" the Nausicaan suggested. "It is said how Skins fear freedom."

"I don't think that's it," Rizzul grunted, and checked the charge on his phaser rifle. "I've only got power for a few good shots. Line me up with their engine's plasma induction coils. Perched right above us like that, they're the perfect sitting target...!"

As 'Poug got them into position, Rizzul hopped up onto the seat and leaned his head and shoulders out the passenger side window, the tip of his tongue jutting through his lips as he took aim—

* * *

"Now!" Data exclaimed, and revved the engine, shifting the hovering speeder into its highest gear. He kept it paused there for 2.31 seconds - just long enough to send gusts and heaps of loose, displaced sand blowing straight into the pursuing speeder's engine, clogging its air intake tube and jamming the entire intake manifold - before shifting again and zipping down the dune, out of the dense sand cloud he'd created in time to avoid the same fate.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside the enemy speeder, 'Poug and Rizzul barely had time to realize what had happened before their engine stalled out, their residual velocity hurling them straight into what, on impact, instantly became a loose-sand avalanche. Sand poured in through the open window as the dune collapsed around them, the small speeder rocking and tumbling and sliding helplessly down the slope like a pebble down a mountainside, the two trapped men coughing and screaming and scrambling for dear life.

* * *

"We'll meet them at the bottom," Data said, bringing them around the dune to a safe viewing distance.

"Yeah, if they survive," Ishta commented, staring wide-eyed at the collapsing dune, and the little speeder skittering just ahead of the dusty wave. "I gotta say, though, I never would have thought _sand _could be a weapon!"

"What about that sandstorm?" Kahlestra pointed out.

"Not the same," Ishta said. "I mean, are you seeing this? Data just dumped a whole _sand dune_ on those guys' heads, and he did it with a _speeder_!"

"Yeah, wind and sand," Kahlestra said. "Put them together and you get: sandstorm!"

"It was my intent to turn this hostile landscape to our advantage," Data acknowledged, watching closely as the shifting sands altered the enemy speeder's trajectory, sending it out of the avalanche's main path and up, then back down the slope of a neighboring dune, skidding to an awkward, spinning stop about a quarter of the way from the dune's base.

As Data drove to meet them, the children saw the enemy speeder's doors pop open and two very wobbly figures slide out in a rush of coarse sand.

"Excellent," Data commented, and straightened in his chair. "You know, I really am feeling much better now...as if some metaphysical weight has lifted from my chest. Perhaps it is better to 'vent' one's inner feelings rather than hold them in...even at the risk of enduring judgment...even fear...from others. I will have to discuss this episode with Deanna. In the meantime..."

Data pressed the external comm button, and smiled down at the disoriented criminals.

"Greetings," he said. "This is Lieutenant Commander Data, of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. You have both violated Federation law. Prepare to be taken into custody."

* * *

"Shit, we've been chasing the Feds," Rizzul groaned dizzily, his nearly drained phaser rifle still clutched close to his chest. "Damn Rangers must have called 'em in. Bloody traffic cop bastards... The Boss-man's gonna skin us for sure."

"If we are taken by Federation authorities, we will be labeled traitors, even if we should escape or be released," 'Poug recited. "Father tortures all traitors."

"And we already know what the Big Man's got in mind for us," Rizzul said, and looked straight into the Nausicaan's eyes. "But, if we're going down, those Feds up there are going with us. You get me, 'Poug?"

"Got it," the hulking being agreed, and rose shakily to his knees, lifting his bruised and bleeding arms in the air in the standard Federation gesture of surrender. Rizzul did the same thing, hiding the rifle under his legs as he watched the Fed speeder slowly descend...

* * *

"Stay where you are," Data warned the children as he gently settled their speeder on the sloping, unstable sand. "I will go incapacitate our prisoners, and tie them in restraints."

"What about their phaser rifle?" Kahlestra said. "I don't think that's the stun setting they've been using."

"You are correct. But, the beams I observed were not full strength," Data assured her. "After all this exertion, their phaser rifle's power reserve must be nearly drained. But, even if they do manage to fire, I am more than capable of dodging."

Kahlestra regarded him, a small smile creasing her mouth.

"I believe you are," she said.

"Wait - where are you going to put them?" Ishta asked. "It's not like we have _room_."

"They can ride in the storage compartment," Data said, much to the children's satisfaction, and pressed the control to open the door.

* * *

"They're coming out," Rizzul said, and grabbed his weapon. Firing his last energy bolts at his own speeder's plasma tank, he shouted: "Eat shrapnel, you Federation bastards!"

"Oh, shit!" Data gasped, and dashed back to his seat with inhuman speed, his fingers already flying over the controls. "Phaser fire, physical attack...certainly. But, _this,_ I did not expect," he exclaimed, piloting their speeder out of harm's way just as the brilliant gold and green explosion consumed Rizzul, 'Poug, and their damaged speeder. Flaming bits of the vehicle flew everywhere, but only a few impacted with the fleeing speeder, and those were mostly glancing blows. Data's bigger concern was riding out the violent turbulence.

"Whoa..." Mikey gasped, once the awful shaking finally began to ease.

Kahlestra stared at the burning wreck, her head shaking slowly back and forth in disbelief.

"By Kahless...

"Holy shit!" Ishta shrieked. "Those idiots just blew themselves up! They actually blew themselves up rather than be taken away to some cushy Fed jail! I heard the Boss-man had his goons brainwashed, but to actually—"

"I believe it was their intent to blow us up as well," Data said, his golden eyes still wide with shock. "It could not be done with a nearly drained phaser, so they used their speeder as a bomb."

"There is an old Klingon saying: When backed against a ledge, always pull your enemy down with you," Kahlestra recited.

"Yeah, well those creeps weren't Klingons, and that sure wasn't any act of honor," Ishta said. "Come on, let's get out of this place."

"Agreed," Data said. "This latest adventure has taken us quite a distance from our established course, but if I maintain a speed of eighty kph, we should still be able to make it to the compound by sunrise. Does that sound acceptable to you?"

The children cheered and started up a happy chatter, their near-death experience already all but forgotten.

Data smiled, then looked over at Howard, who had ridden out the entire episode with all the flat detachment of a tricorder. His smile faded, and he sighed.

Howard may not have been the brightest bulb...more than likely, he was not even sentient. But he was diligent, and always ready to serve. Perhaps, at the compound, Data could replicate him a replacement arm.

He wondered if the robot would be pleased.

He wondered if there was still a compound to return to...

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include - TNG: Encounter at Farpoint; The Measure of a Man; Datalore; The Offspring; The Most Toys; Descent; Birthright I; Redemption II; Best of Both Worlds; Disaster; the movies Generations, First Contact, and Star Wars IV: A New Hope (with Rifftrax); and the 1952 song "When I Fall In Love" by Victor Young and Edward Heyman, featured on Brent Spiner's 1991 CD "Ol' Yellow Eyes Is Back."_

_Please Review! :)  
_


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Thank you so much for your fantastic comments! I am always very curious to know what you think of my stories. I love writing them, but because I'm writing them I'll never really know what it's like to 'read' any of them, if you know what I mean. So, thank you! And, I like the "May I help?" moment too. Essence of Data! :)

I was super worried about the rant, and the dynamic with the kids, especially since things are going to change once they do reach the compound and reunite with the others. Strong emotions and complex, interpersonal interactions are not my strong suit in real life (see 'Alternative Data'), and writing stories is my way of puzzling them out. I really appreciate your helpful feedback! :)

Actually, it's a dream of mine to be a real, published author someday, so thanks very much for the encouraging compliment! I've so far managed to get some of my stuff published in kid magazines and academic journals and I once self-published a little picture book on Kindle as an experiment, but I want to be a book author (scifi novels and non-fiction history) and I plan to look seriously into _how_ once I finish revising my thesis, then turn in my thesis, defend my thesis, and graduate - which will, hopefully, all take place this year! Wish me luck! :)

In the meantime, here's a little link-up chapter I wrote out last night. There's more coming soon, so please stay tuned!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

A rosy glow was just brushing the horizon as the looming Stairway came into view. The dim light cast intricate shadows over the structure's twists and curves, making the intertwining steps almost seem to move as the speeder sped by.

"What is that thing?" Ishta asked, breaking the sleepy silence of the last few miles.

"You've never heard of the Stairway of Sawrina the Great?" Kahlestra said.

"I've heard of it, but I've never seen it," Ishta retorted. "It's not like those guards took us Skins out on history tours, you know."

Kahlestra blinked, and sat back. Seeing the familiar landscape, _feeling_ she was so close to home…for a moment, the horrors they'd all been facing had seemed…unreal…

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean anything."

"Whatever," Ishta muttered. "Hey, Data, how much longer till we get where we're going?"

"We are here," Data informed them, and the girls sat straight, peering out the windows as the android pulled into a sheltered clearing and parked the speeder beside the archaeologists' stable.

"I gotta get home," Kahlestra said with sudden urgency, already unstrapping her seatbelt. "I gotta let my mother know I'm OK! And the archaeologists… I have to tell them about Dr. Baker and—"

"Kay, stop," Data said, turning in his seat so he could look her in the eye. "The attack on this compound was quite fierce. Until we know the site is clear, I want you children to remain in this speeder with Howard. I will take the phaser rifle and inspect the stable. If the horses are there, and well, we will all move on to the compound together. Understood?"

Kahlestra looked like she was about to protest, but a glance at Mikey, still fast asleep beside her, caused her to sigh and nod her head.

"OK," she allowed. "But if you take longer than five minutes in there, we're coming in after you."

Data gave her a little smile, then opened the door and climbed out.

"Stay," he warned again as the door closed. Keeping to the shadows, he strode to the back compartment, grabbed the phaser rifle, and crept silently into the pitch darkness beyond the stable gate.

"Don't know why he bothers sneaking around. With his head and hands blinking like that, he's a walking flash beacon," Ishta muttered.

"Heh," Kahlestra snorted. "That's true. Sometimes, I wonder if he forgets he lost his skin."

"How could a metal man with a computer brain forget a thing like that?" Ishta scoffed.

Kahlestra shrugged and looked down at her hand…the slowly healing burn scars left by Dr. Baker's fingers when the woman was vaporized right beside her…

"I don't know," she said quietly, pressing her thumb against the wound until the throbbing sting made her wince. "But, maybe 'forget' is the wrong word. Maybe he did it to remember…?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ishta demanded, thoroughly confused.

Kahlestra clenched her fist and shook her head.

"Nothing, never mind," she said. "Hey, look, he's coming back already!"

Data returned to the speeder at a jaunty pace; a saddlebag slung over one shoulder, the phaser rifle tucked under his arm, and a tricorder in his blinking hand. As the door opened, he met the girls' questions with the happiest, most open smile they'd yet seen him wear.

"It's all right!" he said. "You can come out. I have seen no lingering indications of violent raiding or occupation. The horses have recently been provided with fresh food and water. Even their manes and tails have been braided. And, my tricorder readings indicate seven humanoid life signs in that building." He pointed. "Four human, one Vulcan, one half-Betazoid and…" He smiled at Kahlestra. "One Klingon."

Kahlestra let out a relieved gasp, then jumped down from the speeder to clasp him in a hug so powerful, he actually had to stagger a little to keep his balance in the sand.

"Thank you, Commander," she said, squeezing the android with all her strength. "Thank you, for my mother and for myself."

For a moment, Data seemed quite abashed, even speechless. But then, his expression softened and he gently brushed the loose hair from the young Klingon's face.

"Thank you, Kay," he said, resting his free hand on her shoulder as she slowly let him go. "For trusting I would keep my promise. Your supportive input has been invaluable. This applies to you as well, Ishta," he said, fixing his golden gaze on the solemn girl. "You each aided in your own rescue, and mine. I am exceedingly proud of all of you."

Ishta frowned a little and lowered her eyes, but Data was already moving around the speeder, opening Howard's door, handing Kahlestra the phaser rifle, then slipping his tricorder in his pocket and gently lifting the sleeping Mikey from the back seat.

"Uncle Michael…" he muttered as his forehead brushed against Data's metal cheek.

Data pursed his lips and cradled the boy's head on his shoulder, soothing him back into his dreams.

"Poor kid…" Kahlestra said. "Where's he going to go after all this? His whole family is…well…gone."

"That may not be so," Data said, keeping his voice low. "His immediate family were colonists. He may have more distant relatives elsewhere in the Federation. Grandparents, perhaps. Or cousins."

"Like they'd want to take in a sick kid," Ishta mumbled, climbing slowly out of the speeder and watching the doors close.

Data regarded her.

"In my time aboard the _Enterprise_," he said, "I have known several children who lost their parents to various causes. Jeremy Aster. Jono Rossa. Timothy Harris…" He smiled a little. "When notified, their surviving relatives were more than eager to share their homes with them."

"And me?" Ishta challenged. "I don't have any of that. What am I supposed to do when Kay goes back to her mom and her school and you head back to your ship, huh? You gonna dump me in some Fed institution, Data? 'Cause if you send me home to Mother, she'll have me back on the market in two seconds, flat."

"I will not allow that to happen, Ishta," Data said.

"Yeah? How you gonna stop it, _android_?" Ishta shot back. "I wasn't born in your precious Federation. _Human_ rights don't extend to _Orion_ Skins!"

"You are not a Skin," Data insisted. "You are a fourteen-year-old child who has found asylum on a Federation world. You will not be returned to Orion or sent to live in an institution. Did I not promise I would keep you safe?"

Ishta kicked the sand.

"Like I'm supposed to know what that even means," she snarled.

"It means," Data said, fixing his eyes on her face until she met them with her own. "I will do whatever it takes to find you a home and an environment in which you, Ishta, can grow and thrive. I will not abandon you. Do you understand me?"

Ishta shrugged and kicked more sand.

"Yeah, sure," she said. "I get to hang around your neck like a big, green stone 'till you smoke me out some castle on a cloud."

Data tilted his head, his silvery brow deeply furrowed.

"I find the imagery you employ...confusing," he said. "But, if you mean to depict yourself as a burden to me, Ishta, let me assure you that you are not. None of you children are. Now, come," he said, adjusting Mikey's position on his left arm and offering a free hand to her. "We will discuss your situation with my friends. Counselor Deanna Troi has particular expertise in these matters. Together, we will sort this out."

Ishta grunted, but reached up from her slump-shouldered hunch to take his hand in hers.

Data smiled, just slightly, then said, "All right, let's go. Come along, Howard."

"I am here to serve," Howard replied, and stomped after the group, his metallic-green skin gleaming in the dawning light.

* * *

Riker woke to the regular bleep of a proximity alarm, only to find Deanna already sitting up on her cot.

"What is it? Who's there?" Nat mumbled blearily, reaching under his own cot for a phaser. "Have those damned raiders returned?"

"No," Deanna said, her dark eyes wide with concentration. "No…"

She jumped to her feet, reaching for her clip as she twisted her hair into a loose bun.

"Deanna?" Riker questioned, but she was already talking over him.

"It's Data, Will," she exclaimed. "Data's back – and he's not alone."

Riker wrinkled his forehead.

"What do you mean, 'not alone'?"

"I think—"

"Troi, Will!" Picard alerted, bounding in from the control room with Tu'Pari close behind. "The proximity alarm—"

"We know, Captain," Riker said, pulling on his boots, pocketing a phaser, and striding for the door to the foyer that connected the small control room and their sleeping space to the front exit they shared with the clinic. "Deanna says it's Data."

The foyer door slid open a moment before the commander reached it, revealing a very anxious Freja Anders, who had volunteered to watch over Kurak in the clinic.

"There's a proximity alarm going off—" she started, only to step back to avoid getting trampled by the rest of the group filing past. "Oh, I guess you know, then."

"Come on, Freja," Nat said, reaching for her hand. "They say the android's made it back with someone. Maybe he found Kay!"

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Freja said, and allowed him to lead her out the door and into the cool, breezy morning.

_To Be Continued…_

_References include TNG: The Bonding, Suddenly Human, The Neutral Zone, and Hero Worship. I don't think they ever mentioned Timothy's last name in "Hero Worship," so I named him after the actor who played him: Joshua Harris._

_Your comments are always welcome! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)_


	20. Chapter Twenty

Another short chapter to keep things moving, but a longer one's in the works. Please stay tuned, and thanks so much for your reviews! :)

Chapter Twenty

The Boss-man stared at his viewscreen, where the garbled image being displayed was moving steadily backwards, one frame at a time.

"There!" the Boss-man murmured, and the image paused, the slave with the ceratopsian-like skull working frantically to clean up the picture.

"Damned atmospheric interference." A Suliban woman stepped forward, her arms crossed in annoyance over her flexible, armored jumpsuit. "I can barely tell what's speeder and what's sand in that shot!"

"Says the woman with skin like limestone," scoffed the slave with a head like a golden turtle.

The Suliban woman bared her teeth with a threatening hiss, her pebbled skin taking on the red color and smooth texture of the sofa she was gripping, but the Boss-man held out a white-gloved hand to her, drawing her around the edge of the curved sofa to sit by his side.

"I know your qualities," he whispered from under his wide-brimmed hat, watching her skin revert from smooth, leathery red back to speckled brown and tan. "And, I know your price. There is a team of scientists at work on this planet. They are the reason I called you here."

"Wait, you want me to track a bunch of scientists? On this sandball of a planet?" The Suliban snorted. "What the hell for? Unless they're into sandstorms or quakes, I don't see what—"

"I thought as you did, when I first learned of their dig," the Boss-man spoke over her in his quiet way. "Four Federation archaeologists poking about the ancient Ninevehan ruins… There have been so many digs already, what could possibly be the profit? But, this is no longer merely an 'academic' study. The Klingons have sent one of their own scientists to join in. And now, it seems, the Federation's flagship has become involved…"

He nodded to the ceratopsian slave, and the frozen image on the viewscreen came alive. The image was blurred and staticky, but it seemed to be from the point of view of a recently crashed sand speeder. Two rather wobbly figures staggered into the frame: a burly Nausicaan too tall for the shot, and a shorter, stockier Orion with a transparent patch over most of his face. As they watched, a second speeder came into view and a distant, slightly distorted voice announced through an external speaker: "Greetings. This is Lieutenant Commander Data, of the Federation starship _Enterprise_. You have both violated Federation law. Prepare to be taken into custody."

The Orion and Nausicaan looked at each other, apparently talking although the transmitter couldn't pick up their words. They knelt down in the sand, raising their hands in surrender as the other speeder landed and its door began to open.

"Freeze now," the Boss-man said. "Zoom in on that door, and enhance the image."

"Yes, Father," the ceratopsian slave said, his thick, greenish-brown fingers stabbing at the controls.

"OK, I'm seeing standard Starfleet boots," the Suliban said as the image expanded. "Dark trousers…wait—is that...?" She leaned forward and squinted. "That metal-looking thing there...is that a hand or…?"

"Nizik's 'robot', I believe," the Boss-man said softly, and she could hear the dark smile in his voice. "Lieutenant Commander Data, Starfleet's one and only 'sentient' android, and the second officer of the famous flagship, _Enterprise_. Note: he was driving _my _speeder."

"What do you mean, 'your' speeder?" the Suliban asked. "If that speeder was one of yours, wouldn't it be all full of your spybug crap, like this busted one we're looking at here?"

"Like much of the merchandise I had stored in those tunnels outside the ancient city, that speeder was recently acquired at auction," the Boss-man whispered. "It was earmarked for sale to a Yridian trader, but was presumed destroyed before all of my preferred 'enhancements' could be made. Now I know it was stolen… Stolen by the Starfleet android. Restore aspect and continue playback," he ordered.

The ceratopsian slave tapped the controls, and they watched a blurry, staticky Rizzul grab his phaser rifle and shoot straight at the 'camera.' There was a roaring rush of greenish flame, and the viewscreen went blank.

"Right there, that android cost me two men, and two speeders," the Boss-man hissed under his hat. "And, for all I know, it was he, not a quake, that destroyed those tunnels…possibly in retaliation for 'Poug and Rizzul's idiotic bungling of the raid on the archaeologists' compound."

"You want him as smithereens, Boss, I can do that - if that explosion didn't do it first," the Suliban said. "I'll stick the pieces in a nice, white bag for you."

"No, no." The Boss-man shook his head in exasperation. "Don't you understand? Starfleet is here for a reason, Silarra. Those archaeologists have found something, and if that something is enough to warrant the involvement of both the _Enterprise_ and the Klingons, it will certainly be of interest to…others. More than enough to make up for the loss of my goods..."

He gently took her pebbled hands in his gloved ones and squeezed, gradually increasing the pressure as he talked until the tough Suliban woman began to squirm and wince.

"I want to know what that something is, Silarra," he said with quiet menace. "I want to know every single little detail those scientists know. Once I have this knowledge, I want you to take that something and bring it to me, making sure to…disable…any _one_ or any _thing_ that might come looking for it. For what I'm paying you, my dear little chameleon, I expect results. There must be no further slip ups."

"Yeah, yeah, all right!" the Suliban exclaimed, struggling in vain to pull away from his painful grip. "We've got a deal, OK! Just, let go already!"

The Boss-man squeezed harder – so hard, Silarra became genuinely afraid he'd snap her fingers. Only when he saw that fear in her eyes did he let go and sink languidly back against the red cushions.

Silarra jumped to her feet and glared at the white-clad man, rubbing the circulation back into her bruised hands.

"I'll take the job, and the payment," she said grimly. "But I'm warning you, right now, 'Boss-man.' I'm not one of your fawning, servile Slaves. I'm an employee, and I work freelance. If I find even a trace of your stalker spybug shit on me or in any of my stuff, I swear—"

"Please, Silarra, there's no need for profanities or oaths," the Boss-man said. "Just do the job I assigned you. Lead with your brain, not your gut. And, be sure to get this right." He gestured toward Nizik's hanging skin. "You know I don't believe in second chances."

The Suliban scowled and stalked out of the room, fighting not to shiver at the sound of the Boss-man chuckling low in his throat.

_To Be Continued..._

_References include ENT: Broken Bow; Cold Front; Detained; Shockwave; Future Tense; The Expanse; and Storm Front, which feature the Suliban. According to these episodes and Memory Alpha, the Suliban were mostly nomads, some of whom, due to genetic engineering, possessed the ability to survive in a vacuum and/or alter their physical appearance. Such alterations could range from stretching to changing the color/texture of their skin, to mimicking other species. Silarra is an original character. Though inspired by the Suliban depicted in the show, her attitudes and culture will be a product of her 24th century circumstances, which are bound to be different from those the Suliban faced in the 22nd century, especially if some groups continued to be nomadic. In other words, I literally made her up just now for this story because I needed a new bad guy and Data found it challenging to face off against genetically-engineered opponents before (TNG: The Hunted), so I think she could be fun to play with now that Nizik, 'Poug, and Rizzul have all been...well...dispatched already. Besides, Data and his friends need a new challenge if they're going to climb to the next level of this story arc! _

_I just realized, that sounds kind of video-gamey, doesn't it. Gotta climb to the top to face the Boss! LOL!  
_

_I have a head cold and my thoughts are all swimmy, can you tell? Guess I'll have to venture out to the shops tomorrow to find some cold medicine...bleh...  
_

_Anyway, there's lots more story still to come, so please stay tuned, and let me know what you think. Your comments are always welcome! :)  
_


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Hi! I'm sorry this chapter took me so long to finish. I was kind of stuck for a while, but your nudges and wonderful comments helped me push through the sticky bits and connect a few of the hazier dots I'd left in the initial outline. :) Hope you like this next part! **

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One

Freja handed the medical tricorder to Deanna and selected a small dermal regenerator from the tray beside the cot Riker and Nat had brought in from the other room, smiling gently as she turned back to Kahlestra. Deanna headed across the small room, where Mikey lay on the biobed beside the one monitoring Kahlestra's mother. The boy hadn't woken up since Data carried him into the clinic, and Deanna's expression grew pinched as she reviewed the tricorder readouts...

"Well, Kay," Freja said, "apart from that awful burn on your hand, you're fit as a fiddle and ready to play. I'll just use this to—"

"No!" Kahlestra said, pulling away from the dermal regenerator. "I don't want you to fix my hand."

"This isn't the time to be stubborn," Freja said. "Burn wounds can be pretty nasty if they're left untreated. Your hand could become infected. If there is nerve damage, you could lose some feeling and dexterity—"

"Just clean the wound," Kahlestra said. "Don't heal the skin. I can use my hand just fine."

"Kay," Data said, stepping away from the computer console where he'd been double-checking the results of his own self-diagnostic, and the diagnostic he'd run on Howard after replacing his arm. "If you do not allow Dr. Anders to heal your hand, the scars—"

"I want the scars," Kahlestra said, scowling down at the reddened wound. "I want to remember… Like you."

Data tilted his silvery head.

"I do not understand," he said.

"Those stinking slavers didn't take your skin," she said, narrowing her eyes at the startled android. "You did it to yourself, didn't you. You did it because someone hurt you. Someone hurt you so bad, you needed to remember – needed everyone to remember – just who and what you are, underneath. Well, I need to remember too."

"Remember what, honey?" Freja said.

The eleven-year-old slid off the cot and straightened to her full four feet, six inches, teeth bared and eyes blazing.

"That I am a Klingon," she said. "Dr. Baker was my friend, and she was killed – vaporized! – while trying to protect me. Shot in the back by flesh-peddling cowards! I will not erase the marks her murder seared into my skin!"

Data blinked thoughtfully and flexed his own metallic hand, his golden eyes moving back and forth as he processed the girl's words.

Freja looked uncertainly from one to the other.

"I don't know how your mother would feel about this…" she said, glancing at Kurak's prone form. The Klingon woman had stabilized, but she still needed a trained specialist to examine her internal injuries. Melinda Baker had worked as a nurse for three years before going back to school to follow her dreams of becoming an archaeologist, working in the field. If she'd been there now...

"Just let her keep the stupid scars," Ishta muttered, curled up in the corner with her arms crossed over her knees, her chin on her arms, and her back against the wall. "It's her hand, after all. If her mom makes a fuss, heal it then."

Kahlestra snarled at the older girl, who wrinkled her nose right back.

Freja sighed and set the dermal regenerator back on the tray.

"All right, Kay," she said. "Come with me, and we'll get that wound all cleaned out for you." Looking down at Ishta, she added, "I'll expect to see you on that cot when we get back, young lady."

"Fat chance," Ishta mumbled, sinking deeper into herself until only her blue eyes were visible over her arms.

"You do not wish a physical exam?" Data asked.

"Hell no," Ishta grunted. "I'm not letting a bunch of Feds poke and prod me with those machines."

"You saw for yourself that the exam is entirely non-invasive," Data said. "There is no poking or prodding involved."

"Whatever! I just don't want one, OK? And I'm keeping my clothes," she added fiercely, digging her fingers into her tattered, sand-and-travel-battered rags. "Tell that Freja lady I will _not_ wear some stupid, ugly replicated jumpsuit!"

Data regarded her, noting her tense, protective posture, and was again reminded of his friend, Tasha Yar. He recalled all she had told him of her life before Starfleet, a life of abuse and insecurity, where those who trusted too easily were marked as targets, victims…and he nodded.

"As you wish," he said.

She glanced up at him, her brow furrowed in suspicion.

"Did I not promise I would look out for you?" he said. "If you are uncomfortable with the mediscan, I won't force you. As for your clothes, if you are amenable, perhaps later I can show you how the replicator can be used to design an outfit to your own specifications. Would you find that acceptable?"

She grunted and shrugged, but most of the angry tension had drained from her shoulders.

Data smiled, and gave her dark, tangled hair a supportive pat.

"In the meantime, the sonic shower is free," he said. "Why don't you clean up, then get some sleep. The replicator can supply you with a pillow, dental cleansers, and a hairbrush if you like."

She grunted again and slouched to her feet, shuffling toward the replicator while Data headed over to check on Mikey.

"How is he, Counselor?" he asked quietly.

"Not good, Data," she said, indicating the troubling readouts. "According to this, the boy is suffering from end-stage leukemia. I'm amazed he was able to find the strength to make it this far."

Data frowned and moved closer, gently brushing a stray hair from the boy's warm forehead.

"What is Dr. Crusher's ETA?" he asked.

"Her shuttle won't arrive for another few hours yet," Deanna said, and looked into her friend's worried face.

"I never thought I'd say this," she said, "but you look exhausted, Data. We have things under control here. Why don't you take this time to activate your dream program? We'll wake you if the situation changes."

"But, Deanna," he said, "would it not be better if I stayed here, with him? If he should wake, in a strange place—"

Deanna squeezed the android's shoulder.

"You need to take care of yourself too," she said. "I noticed you brought your bioplast sheeting in from the stable."

Data hunched his shoulders and looked away, his discomfort palpable even to a non-Betazoid.

"I have considered replacing my…skin…" he said. "And, I know it would be best to do so sooner rather than later. Since removing it, my systems have endured unprecedented stress and, as you observed, I have not yet fully recovered from the ordeal. Yet…"

His shoulders hunched even further and he clasped his hands, his blinking thumbs twiddling over his laced fingers.

"Is this difficult for you, Data?" Deanna prodded.

He tilted his head.

"Difficult?"

Deanna's lips quirked slightly and she gestured for him to follow her to the cot. In the next room, they could hear Ishta and Kahlestra arguing over whose turn it was to use the sink. A spike of concern shot through Data, but Deanna held him back, indicating he should sit beside her on the flat, foam mattress.

"They're all right," she assured him. "I want to talk about you. You've been through a lot these past couple of days. From what you, Howard, and the children have told us, it sounds like it's been one adventure after another since you escaped those kidnappers."

Data narrowed his eyes.

"I am not quite certain what you are asking me," he said. "If you wish to know whether my emotion chip has—"

"No, no, Data – I'm trying to say I'm proud of you," Deanna said. "You've progressed so far so fast, and all on your own…it's only natural you might find your return here, to us, to be a bit…confining…"

Data shook his head very slightly.

"Deanna, I still do not—"

"Data," she said, resting her hand on his arm. "Let me just say this, straight out. You know that, as organic beings mature, as they go through the mental stages of development from infant to adult, their physical features also change. But, while you may have an aging program, your appearance stays pretty much the same from year to year, decade to decade. The experiences that change you on the inside are not necessarily reflected in your face…as they would be if you were human."

"That is true…" Data said quietly. "And, it has been a concern of mine as I have watched others around me age."

He sighed, and pulled his arm away from her hand.

"You are quite correct, Counselor," he said. "I have changed, and I do wish my outward appearance to reflect those changes. The prospect of…replacing…my former skin… A skin that…that I purposefully shed…"

He winced a little, and shook his head.

"Bioplast sheeting may be durable, but it was old tech when my father procured it for my construction, over thirty years ago. There is a much broader range of materials available now, materials that are infinitely more advanced. Materials capable of matching, not just the _look_ of human skin…but the sensations as well…"

He swallowed, and glanced at her.

"I have never admitted these thoughts out loud before, not even to Geordi," he said, his voice growing increasingly strained as awkward emotions churned within him. "But…I have been considering this…operation…since I first realized that my mother, Juliana, was an android. The advancements evidenced in her construction…the capacity for real, physical sensation… And yet, until the Borg Queen… I didn't… I never…"

"It's all right, Data, I understand," Deanna said, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. "And no, I don't think you're vain to feel this way."

He straightened slightly.

"How did you—?"

"It's pretty obvious, isn't it?" she said, and smiled. "Data, I know you worry about disappointing or upsetting us, but it really isn't necessary. As the captain has said, we _want_ you to be the man you are, the man we've all watched you become. And, Data, part of that is knowing that you feel comfortable and confident in your own skin. If you truly feel this upgrade is right for you, that you've 'outgrown' your old skin, as it were, then go ahead and embrace the change. And, when you do, do it for yourself, not us."

"But, my Starfleet records…" he protested weakly.

"The rest of us aging mortals have to update our image IDs every five years," she said. "I'm willing to bet you haven't changed yours since you made Lieutenant Commander."

"I'm afraid you would lose that bet, Counselor," he said, and smiled. "I update my image file every time they come out with a new uniform. But, I suppose it is about time for a change. When time permits, I will discuss the matter with Geordi and Dr. Crusher."

"And, until then?" Deanna asked, glancing at the saddlebag he'd brought in from the stable.

"I don't know," he said, and slid off the cot. "Ask me after my power levels have returned to optimum parameters."

"Does that mean you're going to sleep?"

"It does," he said. "Please wake me should Mikey's condition change."

"I promise, Data," she assured him, her expression turning thoughtful as she watched the android stride through the clinic's sliding doors.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

Next Time: A bit more talk and character stuff before the plot heats up again, but this time, someone may be watching... Stay Tuned as the second tier of this three-level story continues! :)


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Silarra adjusted her transporter armband and rechecked her small, Romulan tricorder for any sign of humanoid or equestrian life forms in the caves ahead.

The readings showed residual heat traces of two horses and two humanoids, and fresh tracks in the sand indicated some sort of horse-drawn vehicle. Probably a couple of local Rangers re-stocking the camp-stops along the official trail that circled through the planet's ancient ruins.

Silarra smirked, and tucked her tricorder back into its pocket on her narrow utility belt. As tourist expeditions went, this burning sand-pit of a trek wasn't exactly popular, but it was the only real attraction Nineveh IV had going for it, and she knew the city officials made a point of maintaining the paths and keeping the stables clean and stocked. The Rangers who had just been here were probably only a few miles ahead of her, off to identify and report any trail or site damage caused by the latest bout of earthquakes and sandstorms. For now, though, it seemed the caves were…

"All clear…" she murmured to herself.

Shifting her skin tone and texture from reddish-rock to coarse, sun-lit sand, Silarra crept out of the shaded, rocky crevice like a lanky spider and skittered across the sand, using a strange-looking, yet surprisingly efficient, hop-shuffle that effectively erased her tracks behind her.

It was only a short distance, but the burning rays of the rising sun were enough to make her feel uncomfortably overheated. She tugged irritably at the collar of her tight, translucent bodysuit, and grunted.

"Damn suit…"

The highly advanced suit refracted light, aiding her chameleonic talents by providing a shade of near-invisibility, but while the inlaid metals, glass fibers, and woven plastics were effective protection against stun rays and projectiles, the outfit was designed for use in deep space – to retain body heat rather than cool a person down. As such, it wasn't exactly the most efficient desert gear.

She headed for the sleeping cave first, tricorder in hand, but either the Federation travelers were conscientiously tidy or the Rangers had cleaned up the campsite because they hadn't left so much as an empty ration packet or used heat stick behind. Even more disappointing, the walls of the cave were extremely rough. Loose sand crumbled away at the slightest touch.

Silarra grumbled through her teeth.

The Boss-man had provided her with several stolen passwords to get her started on this assignment, but smooth surfaces and casually discarded trash could have given her the biodata she needed to access private personal information on these Starfleet people she'd been sent to shadow. Fingerprints, trace DNA… Without it, she'd have to learn from official personnel records and observation alone and, while she prided herself on being an exceptionally skilled mimic, it always helped to be familiar with the inner hopes and secrets of her prey.

The stable didn't promise to be much better, but Silarra went in just the same. She kept her attention on her tricorder, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dimness…

Movement - there, in the shadows...!

Silarra gasped and crept back, but despite the alarm bells chilling her spine, she couldn't quite bring herself to run. Instead, she moved in deeper, slinking closer to the shadowy back wall…then closer…

"What in all the galaxy…?"

Four powerful figures faded into view – and she realized what her eyes had mistaken for movement was really a startling image of four sleek horses bursting out from a field of golden handprints.

"It's…it's a painting…" she said, slowing leaning forward, her long fingers outstretched. "An artwork…"

She sniffed the air, then patted the vibrant pigments with her glove. It came away clean, but she was certain, "This is no ancient relic. This paint is fresh…"

Quickly, she fumbled for her tricorder and scanned the work. The stone here was different from the other cave, smoother, less sandy, but she could still find no trace DNA. Even the background of yellow hands provided only partial prints, smeared and badly muddied by the thick paint. But—

"What's this…?"

Silarra bent closer to the craggy wall, where she found a very neatly printed dedication written, not in Federation Standard, but in an odd sort of code that combined letters and numbers. Her tricorder gave her at least eight possible translations, but only two made any sense:

TO MY DEARLY LOVED

FOR LAL

* * *

Riker shuffled into the main cafeteria, yawning and stretching, and almost stumbled over a pair of legs sticking out from under the cafeteria's replicator. A silvery tool box and empty saddlebag rested against the wall nearby.

"Whoa - what—?"

"Oh! My apologies!" Data said, backing swiftly out of the open wall panel and rising to his feet. "Good morning, Commander. I'm sorry for… That is, I was merely making some…um…adjustments…"

He held up his tool box as if in demonstration, his entire manner oddly awkward and sheepish.

Riker regarded the fidgeting android, his pre-caffeinated brain hovering somewhere between amused and suspicious.

"What kind of adjustments?" he asked. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Data assured him. "This unit operates as specified. Perhaps it would have been more appropriate to say 'enhancements' rather than 'adjustments,' as the items I wish to replicate require a great deal more power, processing capabilities, and memory capacity than a standard, portable emergency replicator is designed to handle."

"Yeah?" Riker said, a tiny smile playing around his lips. "What do you have in mind?"

Data looked away and Riker could swear, if an android without skin could blush, Data was certainly doing his best to prove it.

"I do not understand why speaking about…personal matters…has lately become so…so hideously awkward," the android mumbled. "Such discussions never bothered me like this before…"

"It's perfectly normal Data," Riker assured him. "You're going through a very personal transition right now. We all understand that. It's something all humans – or humanoids, if you prefer – go through as they mature."

Data regarded him, and Riker smiled.

"Well, in one way or another," he qualified.

Data returned his smile, just slightly, and set his tools back down on the floor.

"Yes, sir," he said, and glanced at the console controls. "The replicator is functional. Did you wish to order breakfast?"

"Scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, sourdough pancakes topped with lingonberry jam and birch syrup, a glass of cranberry juice, and a black coffee," Riker rattled off. "Hot. And, put it on a tray."

The replicator chirped and whirred, and an appropriately loaded breakfast tray materialized on the inset shelf.

"Ah, perfect!"

Riker grinned and carried his food tray to a fold-out table nearby.

Data just watched.

"If you're planning something complicated, Data, you might want to get it finished now," Riker suggested. "We're admittedly getting a late start this morning, but it won't be long before the rest of the group swarms in clamoring for their breakfast."

Data nodded.

"I should, yes."

He glanced at Riker, already eagerly digging into his scrambled eggs.

"Do you intend to…remain there…?"

"Hey, if you want me to leave, I'll leave," Riker said. "And don't worry, Data – I get it. You're feeling shy, and that's OK. I suppose if I were planning to replicate myself a whole new skin, I wouldn't want an audience either."

Data's eyes widened, and he twiddled his folded fingers.

"It's that obvious?"

Riker's smile gentled, and he picked up his tray

"Look, Data, I can go eat in the other dome. It's no problem. I just came in because this replicator's better than the one in the clinic. You do what you have to do and, when you're ready, you're welcome to come join the rest of us. Just don't forget to order some breakfast for yourself, OK?"

Data nodded, very slightly.

"Thank you, Will. I do appreciate your understanding in this matter. And…Will?"

Riker stopped half-way to the cafeteria's sliding door.

"Yeah, Data?"

"Those sourdough pancakes… Are they…" He smiled a little. "Do they 'taste as good as they smell'?"

Riker grinned all over his bearded face.

"Better," he said, and left the room.

Data jutted his lower lip with a slight, "Hm!" and went back to his work. By the time Nat and Tu'Pari came in some fifteen minutes later, the android, his tool box, and his replicated materials were already gone.

* * *

Data stood in the dimness, his overstuffed saddlebag slung over one shoulder and a dermal regenerator in his metallic hand. He started to move toward Kahlestra's cot, then paused and backed away, briefly closing his yellow eyes as he listened to the soft, slow sounds of sleep...

Despite their exhaustion, it had taken a lot to get the children to bed. Kahlestra had wanted to stay beside her mother, and Ishta had flatly refused a cot. All Deanna and Freja's attempts to persuade her had only fortified her stubborn anger until the young Orion had seemed on the verge of screams.

Finally, Data had pried his exhausted frame up from his own cot and wordlessly handed the furious green girl a blanket. She'd taken it with a huff and marched to the far corner, where she had a clear view of both doors. Crouching down with her back to the wall, she'd wrapped the blanket around herself like a cloak, hugged her knees to her chest, and glowered until Deanna and Freja had left the room.

"You know they're only trying to help," Data had said wearily, sinking heavily back onto his cot. "They are concerned about your wellbeing, as I am."

"I don't care," Ishta had grumbled into her knees. "I won't sleep there. I won't sit there. I can't."

"Then, you do not have to," he'd said.

Data could have questioned her. She might even have answered…at least, in part.

But he didn't. For some reason, at that moment, allowing the tightly-strung girl her privacy and some time to relax had seemed more important than assuaging his own concern and curiosity. So, he'd pulled his own blanket up to his chin, closed his golden eyes, and listened closely until both girls had fallen fast asleep. Only then had he activated his dream program…

Data squeezed the dermal regenerator and sighed through his nose.

He'd hoped the girls would be awake…that he could talk with them a bit before…

But, no. After everything they'd been through…he couldn't wake them up now. Better to let them come to consciousness on their own, when their systems were ready.

Unfortunately, his systems couldn't wait that long. The warning messages from his diagnostic programs had faded in intensity from red to yellow, but it was clear now that, no matter how long he rested or what he consumed, he would never be able to sustain optimal performance levels as long as he continued to operate without his skin. He was tired of feeling tired and, while he was aware he should probably wait until Dr. Crusher was available to assist, this awkward new 'shyness' was pressuring him to complete the operation now, on his own, before the doctor arrived.

Was it an aspect of his modesty program – insisting it was inappropriate to appear 'naked' before a colleague? Particularly a female colleague? Had his studies of humanity fostered this powerful sense of embarrassment?

Or was it, as both Riker and Troi had said, that he was undergoing something quite personal? A transition as physical as it was mental?

Whatever the cause, Data knew if he was to complete his 'upgrade' before the captain, the doctor, or the children required his presence, he would have to do so now, and quickly. Besides, if he needed assistance, he could always call on Howard. He'd assigned the robot to monitor Mikey and Kurak while the rest of them slept, but he was sure Riker would be amenable to keeping watch should Data have to call the robot away for a few minutes.

Adjusting the saddlebag on his shoulder, Data left the children to sleep and headed out of the clinic, through a plastic tunnel, and into the empty exercise dome...

* * *

Fifty-six minutes later, a light-skinned young man with neatly brushed dark hair entered the crowded cafeteria. His face seemed a little flushed, his gait a bit stiff, but his boots were polished to a mirror-like shine, his khaki hiking outfit looked crisp and freshly-pressed, and his Starfleet combadge gleamed above his front pocket.

The man made a brief stop at the replicator, then headed for the long, fold-out table, struggling to keep his expression blankly neutral as he watched startled, yet pleased, recognition dawn first on Troi's face, then Riker's and, finally, Picard's and Kahlestra's.

Setting down his tray of pancakes, juice, and hot breakfast tea, he offered a polite "Good morning!" and a friendly handshake to Kahlestra and Ishta, to the very puzzled archeologists, and to Picard, Troi, and Riker, who was struggling not to laugh into his second cup of coffee.

"Always knew you'd make it, Pinocchio," Riker teased, once he'd managed to swallow. "Seriously, though, I don't know what you were so worried about. You look great, my friend."

"Indeed," Picard said approvingly. "I would hardly have known you."

"You really do look wonderful," Troi told him sincerely, her gaze lingering appreciatively on the warm gold and copper hues in his striking amber eyes.

Kahlestra echoed her sentiment with a wide-eyed, "Wow! You look way better than in those pictures I saw. Way better! Don't you think he looks great?" She nudged Ishta.

Ishta grunted, her unruly hair mostly concealing her grumpy, sleepy scowl.

"What are you talking about?" she mumbled. "Who the hell is this guy?"

From the glances they shared, the archaeologists seemed to share her confusion.

No longer able to hold its carefully neutral expression, the man's face broke into a big, beaming grin and he laughed out loud.

"I am Lt. Commander Data," he told the rather stunned girl, grabbing his tray and squeezing into the space between the young Orion and Klingon. "And, right now, my energy-starved systems are crying out for nutrients. Mind if I join you?"

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading, and for your wonderful reviews! I hope you liked this chapter! Coming Soon: More about the mystery beneath the Stairway... Stay tuned! :)_


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Here's a little scene that insisted on being written. Hope it'll cover some questions, and that you'll like this chapter! :)

_P.S. Data has his new skin, and now this story does too! (well, actually, a new cover image...) I was planning to change it back to the picture of the horses as the story goes on because the horses and Data's painting still have parts to play in upcoming chapters but, if you like this one, I'll consider keeping it. _ :)

And now, back to the story!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mikey laughed weakly and reached for Data's hand. Data moved his folding chair closer to the medicot so he could give the boy's fingers a friendly squeeze.

"You have arm hair," the boy observed, pushing Data's sleeve back, then pulling at his collar. "And chest hair. And bristles on your chin."

Kahlestra snickered wickedly and leaned against the foot of the cot.

"Are you going to grow a beard now, like Commander Riker?" she asked.

"I was not planning on it," Data said, giggling despite himself as he pulled his arm away from Mikey's teasing pinches. "Ow! That's enough now."

"All the male Klingon warriors have beards," Kahlestra said, teasingly pressing the paintbrush end of her braid against her chin in demonstration and speaking in a fake, deep voice. "It's tradition."

"Then, I am fortunate that I am not a Klingon warrior," Data teased right back, playfully plucking the braid from her hand, then flipping it over her face, "because I do not intend to grow a beard!"

Their silly laughter masked the low hiss of air escaping from between Ishta's teeth as she rolled her eyes under her blanket, but Data's ears caught it just the same. He glanced over to the girl, hunched against the far wall, and gestured for her to move closer.

"Come join us, Ishta," he said.

The girl just glowered at him, her blue eyes like cinders in the shadow under the blanket.

"Then, at least say something," he invited. "If you are upset, I—"

"Just stay where you are _android_," the Orion spat, and Data's expression fell.

"Ignore her, Data," Kahlestra huffed. "She's being a brat."

Ishta's growl grew louder.

"Well, you are!" the Klingon snapped. "You knew from the start that Data was supposed to have skin! What the hell is your problem!"

Ishta turned her head away and hunched deeper into her blankets.

Mikey snickered.

"She likes him, that's the problem," he taunted. "She thinks Data looks hot!"

"_Shut up!_" Ishta shrieked. "I swear, Cancer Boy, if you weren't already dying I would kill you!"

Data blinked at the real anger in her voice.

"You don't mean that," he said.

"She does," Kahlestra said, and she and Mikey giggled.

"Data?"

"Yes, Mikey?" Data said, his concerned eyes still on the sulking Ishta.

"Is it just your skin that's skin now, or did you change your insides too?"

Data turned back to him and smiled.

"I only replaced my outer covering," he said, directing his voice toward Ishta. "My insides are just the same as before. Would you like to see?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Mikey and Kahlestra cheered.

Data shot them each a sly, secretive look, then pressed a pressure point on his inner arm. An access panel slid open, revealing the sophisticated mechanisms and blinking diagnostic lights underneath.

"That is so freakin' cool," Kahlestra said.

Ishta looked up, and grunted.

Mikey sighed and leaned back against his pillow.

"You're so lucky, Data," he said. "I wish I could be an android."

"Yeah, me too," Kahlestra said. "Then, I could stay here in the Federation and I wouldn't have to go back to that stupid Klingon school!" She shot a little glare at her unconscious mother, but couldn't hide a tinge of genuine concern.

"If I were an android, I wouldn't have to be sick all the time," Mikey said.

Data smiled, but his amber eyes had grown distant, and a little sad.

"Even androids can get sick, Mikey," he said quietly. "Only, when it happens to us, it's usually called a 'malfunction.'"

"Malfunctions can be repaired," Mikey grumped.

"Sometimes…"

Data swallowed away the sudden roughness in his voice, then reached out to stroke Mikey's hair.

"But, so can humans. That is why you have doctors."

He smiled, and playfully tapped the boy's nose, but it was difficult to push away the fierce frustration fisting in his chest.

Only minutes before, they had received word that Dr. Crusher's arrival had been delayed another three hours. The Ninevehan government had already granted her runabout permission to land, but Nineveh IV's ridiculously counterintuitive regulations regarding the importation of medical supplies, coupled with the post-permission red tape involved in actually landing a spacecraft in the desert, was creating the kind of knotty hold up that could drive even the most bureaucratic-minded Zakdorn to tears.

It would, of course, have been much easier just to use the transporter from orbit. And, while that may have been fine for Kurak, Dr. Crusher was wary of subjecting a child in Mikey's condition to the energies of a transporter beam. She insisted it was a far better, and safer, bet to bring the runabout, its sickbay, and its far superior resources, to him and, as long as he remained stable, no amount of persnickety bureaucratic procedures was going to stop her.

Until it arrived, though, Data intended to make it his mission to keep the children's spirits up.

"Kay told me how brave you were back in the desert, when I was feeling unwell," Data said. "How you helped Howard keep the girls from fighting."

"And how you carried all that meat back from our hunt, remember?" Kahlestra said.

Mikey nodded.

"_Chontay! Qapla'!_" he said.

Kahlestra beamed.

"That's it!" she cheered.

Data chuckled fondly, and squeezed his hand. To his surprise, Mikey squeezed back, sitting up a little and putting real effort into it before he lay back down with a gasp.

"My goodness!"

Data carefully flexed his fingers, making a show of pretending to check for damage, and Mikey smiled.

"That is quite an impressive grip," Data told him. "You are stronger than you think, Mikey. I am very proud of you."

"Yeah…" Mikey said, and yawned deeply, his heavy lids struggling to stay open. "Data?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Will you stay with me?" the boy asked. "When the doctor gets here?"

"If that is your wish," Data told him.

"It is," Mikey sighed. "Data?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

But, the boy had fallen asleep, the biomonitors bleeping in time with his slowing heartbeat.

Data shared a glance with Kahlestra, then pulled the silvery blanket up to Mikey's chin and leaned in to press a soft, fatherly kiss to the boy's forehead.

"Sweet dreams, my child," he whispered.

Ishta pursed her lips and lowered her eyes, resting her chin on her knees.

"He's going to die," she said. "You know it."

"I don't believe that," Data said.

"Then you really are dumber than you look," the Orion grunted.

"Hey!" Kahlestra snapped.

"What?" Ishta retorted. "He's an android, right? He's got a fancy metal brain! He knows, if he _had_ to replace his stupid skin, he could have picked any face in the universe! And he picks _that_?" She snorted, and curled her lip. "He looks like some big-nosed, pasty-faced, computer tech geek! And, his hair is stupid too!"

"I'm flattered," Data said dryly.

"Why do you have to look human, anyway?" Ishta snarled. "Humans are idiots. Ugly, hairy, ape-faced idiots! If you're an android, why not keep looking like one? No one would mistake Howard over there for an Orion!"

"I am Howard," Howard announced chirpily from his monitoring station by Kurak's biobed. "How may I be of assistance?"

"You can shut up!" Ishta snarked.

"That is enough," Data snapped. "My apologies, Howard," he told the robot. "Please, return to your work."

"Right away, sir," Howard acknowledged, completely unfazed.

Data turned his amber glare on Ishta, who glared right back.

"I was constructed and programmed by human parents," he said quietly. "A father and a mother that I barely knew. They provided me with a very pale synthetic skin that was extremely durable. But, although it was far stronger than human skin, it did not allow me to feel _sensations_ the way you children can. I could distinguish textures and materials. I could hold an ice cube and measure its temperature, weight, volume, melting rate – any aspect at all – with computer accuracy. But, holding it did not make my hand feel 'cold.' It did not make me shiver. The melting drops did not tickle as they dripped through my fingers or down my arm."

"Can you feel those things now?" Kahlestra asked.

"Yes, Kay," he said. "And, it is entirely due to this upgrade. Since my construction, major advances in the science of synthetic skin grafting have produced an entire range of artificial skins that are now capable of mimicking every component, layer, and function of organic skin. I saw no reason not to take advantage of this improved technology."

"Then…your new skin is still fake. I mean – it's 'android,' like you," Ishta said.

Data snorted a slight laugh, and nodded.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "This is not organic skin. And the fluids that flow through the complex mesh of synthetic tubing beneath it are the same nutritive fluids that have supplied my systems with energy all my life. Only, they are now tinted dark red rather than yellow, to help give this new skin its 'realistic' hue. I can still control the rate at which my hair and nails grow, and since I can now adjust the concentration of melanin in my skin, I have the ability to make my skin and eyes appear darker or lighter at will."

"Again, you picked _that_ look?" Ishta said snidely but, this time, it was more teasing than angry.

Data smiled.

"If you must know," he said, "this 'look,' as you put it, is a carefully chosen composite. I had the computer run a simulation to determine what my parents' biological offspring may have looked like, had they chosen to have any. From literally thousands of options, I chose one that, I felt, looked most like _me_. This face you now see."

"Looks just like your old face to me," Kahlestra said, peering at him closely. "Except your skin's not all whitish and your eyes aren't yellow."

"Yes, they are," Ishta said, leaving her corner in order to make her point. "There's loads of yellow in there. See?"

"But, there's also some brown and green," Kahlestra said, leaning in even closer. "Even a little blue. See? They're like two little golden nebulas."

Data laughed, and leaned back in his chair.

"You children are wonderful," he said. "'Little golden nebulas…' I like that."

"Yeah…" Ishta stuck out a finger to touch his cheek, then his nose and forehead. "Euuch... Skin grease, nose hairs, little wrinkles…"

She shrugged.

"Eh. You still look like some stupid, old-man, big-nosed human, but I guess I can get used to it."

"Thanks," Data said, and rubbed the places she'd poked.

"Jerk," Kahlestra said. "He doesn't either. He just looks like Data."

Data blinked at her, his head cocked just slightly.

"Is that what you really think?" he asked.

"Of course!" she said, and he suddenly had to look away, startled to feel his face and eyes burning.

"I waited so long to perform this upgrade," he confessed, once he could talk. "Years, in fact. I waited…because I was afraid. I did not want anyone to judge me, or to misinterpret what I had done. In addition…" He sighed a little. "I wanted to be sure I was doing this for the right reasons."

"What do you mean?" Kahlestra asked.

"I did not do this because I wanted to mimic humans, or attempt to convince anyone that I was a biological human being," he said, gesturing to his skin. "I did this because I honestly feel it is a more accurate reflection of who I am…what I was designed to be. I am an android, but I am also the child of my father's mind…my mother's creative core… I am a construct, but not an automaton. I can feel, and I can dream. I am a man born of human imagination, but I _am_ a man, just the same. And now…now that I have chosen to stop hiding…to stop denying…"

He shook his head, and smiled a little.

"Well, perhaps it is too much to hope that others will see that too. At least, right away. Society will insist we keep proving ourselves…"

"Proving ourselves…" Mikey sighed sleepily, and curled up under the blankets.

Kahlestra giggled, and Howard quickly returned his glowing photoelectric cells to his monitor screens, his expression as smooth and blank as ever.

"Data?"

"Yes, Ishta," the android said.

"I think you're the weirdest guy I ever met," she said, and briefly rested her forehead against his shoulder. "And, I seriously do _not_ think you're hot," she mumbled, lifting her head to glare at Kahlestra. "No matter what those little twerps say…"

"I believe your sentiment is most appropriate," Data said, a slight teasing tone entering his voice, "especially given the fact that you are all far too young to—"

"Picard to Data," his combadge chirped, and they all gave a little jump.

"Data here, sir," he acknowledged, giving Ishta's shoulder an apologetic little pat as he rose from his chair.

"Data, meet us in the primary control room," Picard said. "I'd like to make one more trip to the site before Dr. Crusher arrives, and we could certainly use your input."

Data glanced at the children, his gaze resting on Mikey's sleeping form.

"Go ahead," Kahlestra said. "We'll be fine. We've got Howard."

She beamed.

Ishta rolled her eyes, and headed back to her corner.

"Whatever," she said.

Data pursed his lips in irritation, but nodded slightly and said, "I will be there momentarily, Captain. Data out."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_Until next time! Your reviews are always welcome, and very much appreciated! Thanks again for reading because, while homework may seem to drain away your life energy, reading is brain exercise, and I usually find that, when you take a break to read stories for a little while,__ your own ideas tend to flow better when you go back to your work! :)  
_

_References Include - TNG: The Naked Now; The Offspring, Family, The Quality of Life; Brothers, Birthright, Unification; Peak Performance; Timescape, Inheritance; and the movie First Contact._


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

_Update! Thanks so much for your reviews and for your nudges to keep me moving on this story. :) Hope you like this chapter! _

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four

The late-morning sun was already blisteringly hot as the group climbed down into the relative coolness of the tunnel system beneath the Stairway. As he reached the bottom, Data winced a little and frowned at his palms, rubbed red by the rope ladder anchored in the sand above.

"You OK, android?" Nat asked, hopping to the sandy ground beside him.

"Fine, thank you," Data said stiffly, and wiped his overheated face and forehead with his sleeve, rather startled to see the khaki fabric come away damp.

"I didn't know androids could sweat," Nat said, wiping his own face with a cloth before reaching out a hand to help Freja jump the last few feet from the ladder. "Kind of a strange thing to program, if you ask me."

"It is not strange at all," Data said distantly, seemingly unable to look away from his sleeve. "In fact, the secretion of persperation is one of the skin's most important functions. Just as with humans, the endothermic process of evaporation helps my systems maintain a relatively constant internal temperature..."

He reached up to touch his face and neck, to brush back the damp hair sticking to his forehead, then experimentally tapped the tip of his finger to his tongue. He tilted his head slightly, analyzing the concentrations of water, acids, sodium, potassium, calcium, and magnesium in the sample, and started to smile.

"Intriguing…" he said. "But, I don't quite understand. I was not sweating like this when we crossed the compound, and the temperature up there was much higher."

"That's dry heat up there," Nat told him, smirking a little at Data's expression. "That damn desert sun wicks away any moisture it hits. Down here, the air is closer, cooler. Moisture has a chance to condense, and collect as humidity. As if the heat wasn't miserable enough in these tunnels…" he muttered.

"Of course…" Data said, touching his upper lip then rubbing the moisture between his fingers.

"Hey, Data – you sure you're gonna be all right down here?" Riker asked, hopping down from the ladder and testing his emergency beacon. "You're certain this dampening field won't affect you?"

"Not to the extent that it should have any significant impact on my performance," Data told him. "As I said back in the control room, as long as the field continues to operate at its current strength, my systems should have no trouble compensating for the drain."

He offered the commander a little smile.

"I appreciate your concern, Will, but I'm sure I'll be fine. After all, I will only be exposed to this energy dampening field for, perhaps, an hour before we must head back to meet Dr. Crusher's runabout."

"Well, if you feel any discomfort, don't hesitate to report it," Riker said.

"Yessir," Data said, and Riker returned his smile with a brotherly clap on the shoulder.

Picard made the jump to the ground, then reached out to help Tu'Pari, who – despite Data's offer – had insisted on carrying the team's heavy equipment pack strapped to his back.

"Well," the captain said, an eager smile creasing his sun-flushed face. "If we're all here, let's get started. Dr. Tu'Pari, as you'll be recording this expedition, would you take the lead?"

The Vulcan nodded and pulled a holorecorder headset from his pack, slipping it over his severely straight, short black hair and turning on the lamp as he strode ahead of the captain through the narrow, egg-shaped tunnel. Riker, Nat and Freja followed closely in a tight group, already talking about the strange musical codes and what they hoped to find…

…which left Data suddenly behind, to bring up the rear…a somewhat irritating development, given the fact that it had not been his first choice to accompany them – as he had informed the captain following his summons away from the children…

* * *

"With all due respect, sir," he'd said, consciously working to keep his voice level and calm, "I believe I could more effectively use this time before Dr. Crusher's arrival were I to remain here with Counselor Troi. Deanna has promised to assist my search for Mikey's living relatives, and to help me find Ishta a suitable—"

"Data—" Picard had started, then sighed and clasped the android's arm. "My friend," he'd said. "I do appreciate your feelings in this matter. And, while extending our aid to the children you rescued is, of course, important, we have a different priority here."

"Captain, I must disagree," Data had said. "The fact of Kahlestra's and my abduction, captivity, and subsequent escape evidences a most alarming, and on-going, oversight on the part of Starfleet – to say nothing of the Federation's top investigative, intelligence, and law-enforcement agencies! These black market _flesh peddlers_ have been operating with near impunity on Federation worlds and along Federation borders for I do not yet know how many years, kidnapping and selling _children_ for purposes I can only describe as—"

"Mr. Data…" Picard had raised a calming hand. "You're right. You are absolutely right. The fact that such despicable criminality could continue to operate within the Federation in this day and age is an inexcusable violation of the values and tenets that define our society, and you have my promise that I will support any official report you wish to submit. But, this find is more significant than you know. If I'm right…"

He took a breath to compose himself, then leaned in with a conspiratorial smile, his eyes gleaming with the enthusiasm of a sleuth on a hot trail.

"This could be a truly momentous discovery, Data," he'd said. "An ancient artifact of unknown power that, once tapped, could irrevocably shift the balance of power in this part of the galaxy. That's why that Nausicaan came here. That's why those raiders killed Dr. Baker and destroyed Kurak's lab. Someone has been following the archaeologists' work on this planet, someone who does not want to take the chance that this ancient power source will fall into Federation – or even Klingon – hands."

Data frowned.

"The Romulans?"

Picard looked grim.

"Or, the Cardassians," he'd said. "Perhaps even the Dominion. Do you see now, Data, why this investigation must take priority, at least for now?"

Data closed his eyes and nodded, sighing deeply through his nose.

"You say the key may be a musical code?" he'd said, and smiled slightly, admittedly intrigued by the mystery despite his deeply conflicted feelings.

Picard's stern features broke into a grin.

"There's the Data I know," he'd said, proudly clapping his friend on the shoulder. "I knew we could count on that inquisitive mind of yours! The rest of the team is waiting in the control room. I want you to go over their findings, then return with us to the main site. We only have a few hours, so let's get moving!"

* * *

Data flexed his hands. His palms were still a little raw from the rope, but they didn't exactly _hurt_. Beyond that, his sweaty skin was beginning to make his entire body feel unpleasantly tacky and unclean. His lightweight hiking shirt stuck uncomfortably to his chest and back as he moved, and he could _feel_ the dust that hung in the muggy air clinging to his face and neck as he continued through the tunnel. A quick swig of water from his canteen quieted his system diagnostic warnings that all this perspiring was causing a slight unbalance in his body's water, salt, and mineral levels, but shortly after swallowing the back of his nose and throat again seemed 'dry.' The more he tried to ignore it, the more 'present' the odd feeling became until he reached back for his canteen, giving in to the peculiarly pressing _need _to take a few more, longer, sips.

He had to wonder: could this strangely _physical_ sensation be 'thirst'? Had losing so much moisture through his skin truly left him 'thirsty'?

Data knew he couldn't be the only one experiencing these awkward physical discomforts. But, as none of the others were voicing complaints, he decided to keep his questions to himself for now and just continue walking. Without breaking his stride, he tucked his canteen back into place, sank his stinging hands into his pockets, and followed the rest of the group into a surprisingly small, cramped cavern, his mind burning with the bitter suspicion that this long-anticipated, 'indistinguishably realistic' new skin of his would ultimately turn out to be as much a mixed bag as his goddamned emotion chip.

Nat's lantern flickered in the darkness ahead, and the bright lamp at the side of Tu'Pari's headset went out.

"Tu'Pari, I thought you said you'd fixed our equipment to work despite the dampening field," Nat complained, shaking the lantern as if that would recharge the dimming light.

"I did," the Vulcan said, calmly reaching for his tricorder. "Allow me a moment to scan…"

An odd wave of lightheadedness washed over Data and he shook his head, raising a hand to his temple.

"_Oooph_!" he winced. "Oh…I—"

"Data?" Riker said, turning to face him in the dimness. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

Data rubbed his sinuses, as if experiencing the start of a headache.

"I am…unsure… I think I—"

He started to move forward, only to feel a terrible, static-like prickle surge through his systems. He gasped and staggered, the dark cavern seeming to spin around him as he lurched desperately toward the stability of the rough, stone wall.

"…_help…! …Captain…!_"

The archaeologists stood back as Picard and Riker rushed to keep their android friend from collapsing to the sandy floor.

"Data, what is it?" Picard said, taking him by the shoulder. "Is it the dampening field?"

"I…I am… I am uncertain, Captain…" the frightened android managed, fighting to swallow back a powerful swell of nausea. "Suddenly, I…I feel…incredibly dizzy…"

"The field's strength has increased by twenty-eight percent in the last thirty seconds," Tu'Pari reported coolly, "but appears to no longer be rising. I estimate that, at this level, even with my modifications, our equipment will be drained of energy within the next thirty-to-forty minutes."

Data groaned, and rested his head against the wall.

"Why would the field strength increase now?" Picard asked.

"Actually, Captain, the strength of the energy dampening field has been increasing in irregular increments ever since we first discovered the wall panel at the far end of this cavern," Tu'Pari said.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Riker demanded.

Tu'Pari raised an eyebrow, unaffected by the commander's tone.

"I had previously presumed these energy spikes to be random," the Vulcan said.

"And now?" Nat asked curiously.

"Now, I am almost certain that there is a direct correlation between the field's energy increases and the amount of electronic gear we have brought in near proximity to that wall panel."

Freja frowned.

"Then, this energy source, whatever it is," she said. "It can somehow 'sense' electronic devices and adjust its own energy levels to inhibit their function the nearer they get to this wall?"

"That would be my theory, yes," Tu'Pari said.

Data snorted; a strange, darkly amused sound.

"Ah..." he said, leaning weakly against the cavern wall. "So, you are saying…this is my fault."

Tu'Pari fixed him with a blank stare.

"I would hardly categorize a machine of your sophistication as a mere electronic device," he said, earning a dirty glare from Riker. "But, yes. It is likely that your proximity is, in part, responsible for this latest increase."

"Incredible," Data said drolly, and sniffed, still unsteady and a little breathless as he struggled to straighten up. "Abduction…earthquakes…sandstorms…a nearly deadly speeder chase…and now this." He smirked. "You know…I'm starting to…to get the impression…that this planet doesn't like me."

Riker chuckled, but Picard's eyes were crinkled with worry as he helped his android officer find his footing on the uneven ground. Even in the dim light, Data's face looked alarmingly pale beneath its mask of dust and sweat.

"Take your time, Mr. Data," Picard said, holding him by the arm. "There is no rush."

Data nodded, and attempted a reassuring smile.

"I will be fine…in a moment, Captain," he promised. "Systems…are already compensating…"

Freja bit her lip, glancing anxiously from Data to the noticably dimmer lantern.

"Maybe we should start back," she said, twisting her hands. "We can readjust the equipment and return later."

"She may be right, Captain," Riker said. "If the dampening field is going to have this effect, it might be better for Data to observe remotely, from the control room."

"No—no, sir," Data said quickly, the color starting to return to his cheeks as his labored breathing began to even out. "Please, we've come this far. I am curious to see for myself just what this mysterious field has been protecting."

"I admire your spirit, Mr. Data," Picard said approvingly and reached for the lantern, leading the way to the silvery, shimmering etchings and glyphs, and the rectangular panel they had located the day before. "Now, let's see what we can make of this."

* * *

A glimmer of movement passed through the shadows at the edge of the narrow corridor - there and gone so quickly it could be easily shrugged off as a trick of the eye.

Silarra kept just shy of the motion detectors that operated the clinic's sliding doors, rising to her tiptoes to peer in through the transparent aluminum window. What she saw there made her reach at once for her com-unit—

Until a sudden thought gave her pause...

The Boss-man had sent her out to find his stolen property and bring him all she could on that mysterious energy source the scientists here had been buzzing about. Including the energy source itself.

Well, she could see most of his stolen property right here. The Orion, the Klingon, that robot...even the sickly little human child. But, why jump the gun and report to the Boss that she'd found his stolen Skins when she could hold out for a while? Offer him a better package deal for a significantly higher price?

According to her research, that dark-haired woman in there with the children was the half-Betazoid counselor of Captain Picard, and a fellow crewmate of that Starfleet android she'd been tracking since the caves: Lt. Commander Data. Her value on the black market could be incalculable to a clever operator like the Boss - not just for her looks and empathic talents, but for the information she held as a high-ranking Starfleet officer.

And, odds were, she wasn't alone...

Starfleet trained its people to work and fight in packs. Spot one uniform, and at least two others were sure to be close by.

Silarra could work with that.

Of course, this group was sure to be more clever than most. The android's skillful handling of Rizzul's pursuit was warning enough that an outright attack would never work here.

But, Silarra was a skillful manipulator herself, and an even better hunter. Like the Earth spider with its web and the patient owl in its tree, all she had to do was wait and watch and, soon enough, her prey would come to her.

Bringing the Boss-man's ancient energy source right along with them.

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include - TNG: Inheritance; Final Mission.  
_

_Until next time, thanks for reading! Your comments, thoughts, opinions, and reviews are always welcome! :)_


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

_Update! Sorry for being slow...evil migraines have been attacking me all month and it's been really hard to look at the screen long enough to write anything coherent. I hate being sick. I hate it so much. It doesn't help that I'm allergic to most migraine medications. Grr... There's so much more I've been wanting to write, but it's been like trying to force a bunch of lakes through a tiny crack in a light-sensitive, aura-ridden migraine dam. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I hope that it makes sense and I hope these migraines go away soon so I can write out the scenes that are all backed up in my head! _

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five

_Counselor Deanna Troi, Personal Log, Nineveh IV. _

_It has been about four days now since we left the _Enterprise_ yet, with all that has happened, it feels like it's been four months. As I had initially hoped, removing Data from the ship has prompted him to begin to open up – to try to understand himself as the deeply compassionate, sensitive being he has become. Yet, while he has made some impressive advances in this very short time, I remain concerned with regards to his long-term emotional health and stability. The scientists here are wary of him – of all of us, really, and understandably so. They have spent the last several years of their lives on this project, after all; they were targeted by raiders and lost a colleague pursuing this work, and it is only natural they would be protective of their findings now that they are so near to a real breakthrough. But, more worrying than the archaeologists' attitude, I think, is the fact that Data has become extremely attached to the three children he rescued. That he was able to inspire these wounded, temperamental young people to band together and work as a team under such difficult circumstances is entirely to his credit and, to me, provides satisfactory evidence that the leadership skills he has been honing throughout his career have only been enhanced by his recent emotional growth. But, Data yearns for acceptance, for the warmth and love of family, and the _Enterprise-E_ is, unfortunately, not a family ship. The promises he made to Mikey, and to the young Orion who calls herself 'Ishta', could present a significant conflict with his Starfleet duties if—_

"Who's there?" Troi called out suddenly, standing up and moving a few steps away from the computer console.

"We're here," Kahlestra said, peering at her over the stack of summer homework she'd piled on the little fold-out table beside her mother's biobed. "Why, did you hear something?"

"No," Troi said, her voice a little distant. "It's something I sensed…"

She strode through the sliding doors to peer out into the corridor. She scanned the area with her eyes, reached out with her mind…

Then frowned and walked back into the clinic.

"Well, whatever it was, it's gone now," she said – only to set her jaw when she spotted Ishta standing in front of the console.

"That log is confidential," she said, hurrying over to blank out the screen.

Ishta snorted.

"Whatever," she said. "It's not like any of that stuff's a secret anyway."

"What do you mean?" Kahlestra asked curiously. "What was she writing about?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Deanna tried, but Ishta barked a harsh laugh.

"Yeah right," she said scornfully, and faced Kahlestra. "The Counselor, here, thinks Data's too 'attached' to us," she said. "She thinks if he tries to help me and Mikey, like he promised, it'll hurt his career."

Kahlestra regarded the counselor.

"I thought you were supposed to help too," she said.

"I am, Kay," Troi told her. "I was just getting some other work done while I was waiting for the computer to reconnect with the Federation's subspace network."

"Don't believe it," Ishta said. "She's a Betazoid, and a shrink. I'll bet it was _her_ idea to make Data leave! That's the plan, isn't it? Keep us apart, keep him busy, then send us away while he's not looking?"

"No, Ishta," Deanna said firmly. "That is not true."

"And, we're just supposed to believe you?" Ishta challenged.

"They shouldn't have made him go," Kahlestra said, scowling down at her homework padds.

"You mean Data?" Troi said.

Kahlestra nodded, looking up to meet the counselor's eyes.

"He should have stayed here, with us," she said. "They don't want him down there."

Troi regarded her curiously.

"Why do you say that, Kahlestra?"

"Call me Kay," the girl said.

"All right. _Kay_," Troi corrected.

"Why do you even bother asking?" Ishta muttered bitterly. "Betazoids read minds, don't they?"

"I'm only half-Betazoid," Troi informed her. "My father was human."

"So, what? You can only read _half_ my mind?" Ishta glared. "You must really think I'm stupid."

"Not at all," Troi said.

"Then, why the hell are you here?" the Orion demanded.

"I'm here because I promised Data that I would keep an eye on you," she said. "And, I thought we could get a head start on working out your situation."

She sat back at the computer station and opened a new LCARS search window.

"And there – see? Our network connection is back. Now, let's see how far we can get before it cuts out again. Perhaps we could begin with your name. 'Ishta' is very pretty, of course, but I understand you—"

"Ishta _is_ my name now," Ishta snapped. "And we don't need you to watch us. We don't need that stupid robot either."

"I am here to serve," Howard said. "I must monitor the woman and the boy. I am here to keep you safe."

"Gah!" Ishta exclaimed, and slammed her fists against the prefab wall. "I hate this place!"

"You're holding on to a great deal of anger," Troi observed. "If you would like to talk—"

Ishta spun on her, her blue eyes as hard and cold as sapphires.

"Don't even try it, _Doctor_!" she spat, glaring at the counselor through her tangled, black hair.

"I told you before, Ishta," Troi said, keeping her voice carefully controlled. "I am not a doctor. I am a counselor. A therapist."

"Even worse," Ishta snarled. "'_Therapists'_ scramble your brains! When _doctors_ slice you up, it's usually just the parts they're after. Lungs, kidneys, corneas, bone marrow…"

Troi swallowed her revulsion.

"That sort of practice ended hundreds of years ago," she protested. "Today, we have cloning, replication, synthetics—"

"Think what you want," Ishta growled, and leaned back against the wall. "You stupid Feds really don't know anything."

Troi sighed, and rubbed her temples. The distrust and bitter anger that had been radiating from that girl since she arrived buffeted Troi's senses in waves so strong, the effort of shielding her mind against them was making her neck and shoulders ache. Ishta's obstinate, aggressive attitude was exasperating, and Deanna had had just about enough.

"Ishta," she said. "I won't ask you to trust me, and I understand that you don't want me to tell you that I _am_ your friend. But, I think you know that I have no wish to harm you. None of us do. You don't act out like this with Data, do you?"

"She does," Kahlestra said.

Troi shot her a look.

"I'll put it this way," she said. "You recognize that Data cares about you, right?"

Ishta glowered, her arms crossed tightly over her baggy rags.

"Data isn't _you_."

"That's true," Troi said. "But, I am Data's friend. He and I have worked together for a long time, and we've learned to trust each other. Data trusts me to look after you while he's away. Now, knowing how important you are to him, and how concerned he feels about your safety, do you really think he would have left you with me if he didn't believe I wanted to help you?"

Ishta snorted, and brushed her hair back from her face.

"Data's an idiot," she said. "I don't need _your_ help!"

"He is not!" Kahlestra shouted defensively.

"He _is_, because he thinks he can change what's real!" Ishta shouted back, her green face growing flushed as her fury rose. "You don't know – you have no idea! If you did, if your poor, sick mother over there knew what Nizik and Rizzul had in mind for you, she'd make sure you _felt_ the _real_ meaning of _dishonor_!"

Kahlestra snarled dangerously and started to rise, but Troi waved her down.

"Don't let her words bait you, Kay," she said, and turned her dark gaze to Ishta. "We both know she's not really talking about you."

"Who's she talking about, then?" Kahlestra asked angrily.

"Herself," the counselor said gently.

"What?" Kahlestra wrinkled her nose.

"You're a liar!" Ishta shouted. "Keep your damn half-Betazoid mind probe out of my head!"

Troi's expression tightened, but she didn't break her compassionate gaze.

"Is that how you feel, Ishta?" she asked softly. "Is that how you think we see you?"

"I don't feel anything, and I don't care what you think!" Ishta shrieked. "Once a Skin, always a Skin, that's what Father says! That's what Father _knows_. He knows the real truth: that Mikey and me, we're tainted goods – infected by the _stink _of the Skin trade. Even if that _doctor-_lady can help the little cancer-boy live, even if Data _does_ talk some nice, clean Federation family into taking us in, that stink can never wash away. We'd just be a couple of charity cases to be trotted out and pitied until the authorities decide we're old enough to fend for ourselves!"

"You paint a pretty cynical picture," Troi said.

"You saying it's not true?" Ishta challenged.

Troi regarded the fuming girl, her sensitive heart aching for the bitter young Orion even as her clinically-trained mind worked to parse out the layers of her resentment and pain.

"There is some truth to what you're saying," she allowed. "But there are other truths, larger truths, you don't seem to be taking into account."

Ishta snorted darkly and shook her head.

"Stupid Feds are all the same," she scoffed. "You like to talk and talk about some pie-in-the-sky dream of 'acceptance' and 'love,' but even you know it's just stories! The way you people talk, it's like you _want_ to fool yourselves."

She spat, and stalked closer to the counselor.

"Data knows what people are like," she said darkly. "He knows the way they _promise_ and _use_ and _cut_ you down, over and over…! He even knows that putting on some stupid human-looking skin won't convince his precious Starfleet admirals to let an _android_-man captain their fancy starships! But, he did it anyway. He _trusts_ you 'Fleet bastards anyway! And _that's_ why he's an idiot!" she shouted in Kahlestra's face.

The Klingon bared her teeth in a warning snarl, but Troi nodded slowly, thoughtfully resting her chin on her hand.

"You're an observant girl, Ishta," she said. "And quite insightful. But, you've missed something very important."

"Yeah? What?" Ishta challenged, jutting out her chin.

"Data is not alone," Troi said. "He has friends: a community of people who care about him, and who are willing to give of themselves to support his dreams, no matter the adversities he may face while working to achieve them. And, Ishta…" She fixed the girl with her dark eyes. "So do you."

Ishta clenched her fists, and her nostrils flared.

"You don't know anything," she muttered angrily.

"I know you've been hurt," Troi said. "More deeply and more often than any child should be forced to endure. I know you're afraid, and that fear makes you angry. And, I know you're strong. Strong enough to take a chance on hope, even though, until now, hope has only ever led you to more disappointment, and pain."

"Get out of my head, you half-Betazoid freak!" Ishta shrieked, her expression fierce with fury. "You don't know the first thing about me, or what I've been through, so shut the hell up!"

"Sounded pretty good to me," Mikey said, propping his head up on the pillow.

"You were listening!" Ishta cried. "You infectious little creep! If you weren't stuck in that bed—"

"Leave him alone," Kahlestra snapped, rising defensively from the table.

"You gonna make me, little Klingon?" Ishta hissed, baring her own teeth.

Troi stood, alarmed by the fierce hostility she felt sparking and prickling between the two girls, but before she could react, Howard stomped out from behind his monitor station to clamp a staying hand on each of their shoulders.

"Master Data said I was not to let you fight," the robot stated. "I am here to keep you safe."

"Get off me, you metal moron!" Ishta said, struggling to wriggle out of his strong, silver-green grip.

"We weren't going to fight!" Kahlestra protested, glaring daggers at Ishta. "I was just gonna crack her stupid skull a little!"

"Stop this, all of you!" Troi exclaimed. "I don't understand what's come over you girls!"

"They do this, now and then," Mikey said, obviously amused despite his exhaustion. "Data knows how to stop it."

He looked around, and Troi caught his sharp spike of anxiety as he asked: "Hey, where is Data?"

"Captain Picard ordered him into the tunnels under the Stairway," Kahlestra said, still struggling against Howard's grip.

"Will he be back soon?" Mikey asked, clutching the shiny blanket between his fingers.

"He should be back in time to meet Dr. Crusher's runabout," Troi assured him. "There's no need to worry."

"I'm not worried," Mikey lied, and frowned at her. "Why are you here?"

"She's here because Data got too close to us," Ishta snarled, hammering ineffectively at Howard's metallic fingers. "He's made us all sorts of fancy promises, you see. So, they ordered him to leave and stuck this Betazoid head-shrink here instead so it'll be easier for them to send us away!"

"That's not what happened, Mikey," Kahlestra said angrily. "The archaeologists found something down in the tunnels, something important. But, it's blocked by some code. Captain Picard said they need Data's android brain to help them crack the puzzle, but that's not what Dr. Tu'Pari and the others want. They never wanted any Starfleet visitors at all!"

"What do you mean?" Troi started, then shook her head at the awkward scene before her. "Oh, this is ridiculous." Walking up to Howard she said, "Excuse me…erm… What's his name again?" she asked.

"Howard," Mikey said, and smiled.

"Howard," Troi said.

"I am Howard," the robot said in his chipper way, entirely oblivious to the struggles of the two girls he was holding apart. "How may I be of service?"

"Howard, I would like to talk with Kay and Ishta," she said. "Would you please let them go?"

"Mistress Troi. Master Data said I was to listen to you as if you were him. I am here to serve," Howard said, and obligingly released the girls.

"All right," Troi said, pulling a chair over to Kahlestra's cluttered folding table. "Thank you. Now, how about we all sit down? Howard, would you care to join us?"

"Master Data ordered me to monitor the woman and the boy," Howard said, striding stiffly back to his station. "I am here to keep them safe."

"Stupid machine," Ishta growled, scowling at her ripped sleeve.

"We could replicate you some new clothes," Troi offered.

"Buzz off," Ishta snapped.

Troi sighed and looked to Kahlestra.

"Kay," she said, "what were you saying about the archaeologists? Why wouldn't they want us to visit?"

"Not all of them," Kahlestra said. "Dr. Baker and Dr. Anders were happy to have some new people to talk to and show around for a while. But, my mother and Dr. Kapoor were kind of angry about it. Not because they're mean, or anything, but they've spent ages working on these ruins, and now that they're finally close to a breakthrough, they said they didn't want some high-ranking amateur like Captain Picard to swoop in and claim all the credit."

"I suspected as much," Troi said, hoping that really was the underlying reason. "And, I assume they felt the same way about Data."

"Dr. Tu'Pari doesn't like him," Kahlestra said. "He's a Vulcan, so he won't admit it, but I know. Before you guys came here, he read some article that claimed Data's emotion chip made him dangerous, and I heard him say he couldn't respect the intelligence of any being who purposefully chose confusion and chaos over logic and order. And Dr. Kapoor agreed."

"That's why you said the scientists didn't want Data to join them down in those tunnels," Troi said.

"Yeah," Kahlestra said. "They were hoping the dampening field would be enough to keep him on the surface, but mostly they didn't want a couple of Starfleet officers taking over their project before they had a chance to publish their results."

Troi smirked a little, and shook her head.

"You think this is funny?" Ishta said.

"No, of course not," Troi said. "But, I can assure you, Kay, your friends have no reason to worry. I think you know by now that neither Data nor Captain Picard are in this for the credit."

She clapped her hands together, and smiled.

"Now, I don't know about you, but I'm starting to get hungry. How about we take a little break. Then, if you're ready, we can get back to work – starting with Mikey this time."

Her smile warmed a little as she said, "You know, Mikey, I just realized, I don't know your full name."

"It's Michael," Mikey told her. "Michael Sean Applewood. That's after my uncle, Michael Thunderhawk, and my grandfather, Sean Applewood."

"And, your parents' names?" Troi asked, quickly moving over to the console and typing in the information.

"Katy and Graham," he said.

"Thank you," Troi said. "At least, that's something to start with. We can start going through the initial results after lunch. Now, are you all OK with sandwiches, or would you prefer to order for yourselves?"

Ishta and Kahlestra raced for the clinic's small replicator, but Troi held back, that same odd feeling that had pulled her away from her log entry tingling in her brain.

The sensation that they weren't alone…

She spun slowly, searching the room with her eyes, but there was nothing to be seen. No sign of movement, no out of place shadows, nothing that might indicate an intruder.

And yet…

Electronic warning shrills and bleeps burst from Kurak's monitors, and the Klingon woman began to gasp and convulse.

"Something is wrong," Howard reported, his metallic fingers tapping at the control station. "I cannot interface. I cannot stabilize the woman's biorhythms."

"What's happening!" Kahlestra exclaimed, rushing over to her mother. "You have to help her!"

Knowing there was nothing she could do on her own, Troi slapped her combadge, keeping her voice calm and steady as she said: "Troi to Dr. Crusher. Medical emergency in the clinic. We need you down here, immediately!"

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include - TNG: The Offspring; Hero Worship; Inheritance.  
_

_Next Time: Back to the mysterious glyphs. Is the Stairway a Preserver construct? What might the energy field be protecting? _

_Reviews are always welcome! Please let me know what you think! :)  
_


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Hi everyone! I hope you had a great Thanksgiving! My head's still a little fragile and I'm trying my best to avoid doing or eating anything that might trigger another migraine attack, but I've got my 'computer glasses' on, and I am feeling a lot better now. Thanks very much for your reviews and comments - they really are much more effective than pills! :) "Alternative Data" is next in line for an update. Hope you like this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six

Nat Kapoor waited in the shadows near the tunnel, watching Data's movements until the android Starfleet officer stood alone with his back to him, facing the gleaming wall panel. The moment he did, Nat slipped a holorecorder headset over his hair and began recording.

"What are you doing?" Freja asked him.

"Shh!" Nat hushed, and hit 'pause'. "No - wait, do me a favor. Go stand over there, next to the android."

"Why?" she asked, eyeing Data a little awkwardly. "I mean, what would I say?"

"Say anything, it doesn't matter. I just want to check something out."

"Those odd shadows still showing up on the recordings?"

Nat nodded.

"And, I'm starting to think it's more than just a trick of the light, if you catch my meaning," he said, giving her a significant look.

Freja's eyes widened.

"Then, you really think—"

"Not yet," he cut her off. "I still need to consult with Kurak - check all this against her findings. But, seriously, will you please go over there before he walks away? And, stay casual. I don't want these Starfleet tourists catching on. At least, not until we're on more solid ground with this."

Freja nodded and squeezed Nat's arm.

"I've got this," she said, and made her approach as Nat backed deeper into the shadows and continued his recording.

* * *

Data placed his palm against the opalescent panel that dominated the cavern wall, _feeling_ the qualitative aspects of the metal's warmth, its polished, textured smoothness, even as his familiar, android sensors measured every quantitative dip and imperfection his fingers touched.

He watched his hand slide over the raised glyphs and symbols and his lips twitched slightly, his computer-perfect memory bringing him back to another artifact, another time…

_Bozeman, Montana…April 4, 2063…_

A temporal anomaly triggered by a Borg attack had drawn the _Enterprise-E_ some three hundred and ten years into Earth's past, allowing Data, and his captain, to make physical contact with what was, perhaps, the most significant invention of the modern age: humankind's first successfully tested warp-capable vessel.

Dr. Zefram Cochrane and his team had - with a very self-aware sense of irony - constructed the poetically named _Phoenix_ in a missile silo, having adapted a Titan II missile to launch it through Earth's atmosphere, into space. Data remembered Picard's expression as he stood before the towering ship on the eve of its historic flight…the reverent wonder that had lit his eyes… Then, on impulse, Picard had reached out a hand, pressed it to the _Phoenix_'s rough, metal surface, and Data had not been able to understand why. Why was _touching_ Cochrane's warp ship so important to him? The ship was so clearly, materially _present _– Data had felt no need to _touch_ it to verify its reality.

But now…

Data drew in a slow breath and closed his eyes, leaning forward until his cheek rested against the wall panel. He felt the energy field as a buzzing tingle against his skin, humming between his teeth…energy generated from a source that had likely been put in place several thousand years before. In that moment, Data perceived himself outside of time, standing where the mysterious beings who had built these ruins once stood, touching what they had touched… and briefly, just briefly, he felt a _connection_…

He backed away, blinking in astonishment.

Was this powerful sensation a product of intuition? Imagination?

Did it matter?

"Having fun?"

Freja Anders's wry, lightly accented voice drew Data out of his thoughts, and he turned to face her.

"I just wanted to…touch…a piece of history," he said.

Freja regarded him, and he frowned at her look of incredulity.

"Do you think it strange for an _android_ to seek to connect with the past? To wish to feel a part of the history and culture that fostered his own creation and development?"

Freja's pale forehead creased, and her stare grew more intense.

"_Is_ that what you feel, standing here?" she asked.

Data inclined his head, just slightly, then clasped his hands behind his back, returning his gaze to the panel.

Freja moved a little closer.

"I'm curious," she said. "Do you believe that this panel…that, perhaps the Stairway itself…was placed here by the Preservers?"

"I would support your team's argument that similarities in form, format, organization, and style to artifacts previously attributed to the Preservers firmly suggest this panel can be fairly placed in that category," he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone. "I am not yet as certain about the Stairway itself, or any nearby ruins."

"Then, you would support the theory that the Preservers are more than a myth?" Freja pressed.

Data slid his amber eyes to the side, then said, "I believe enough objective evidence has been found to indicate there was a group – or, perhaps, several groups – of beings who, at various points, have interjected a willful influence on developing civilizations in our galaxy. You are, perhaps, aware that I assisted Captain Picard in his mission to complete Professor Galen's research on that subject."

"Yes, we read the reports with great interest," Freja said. "Well, at least, what little information Starfleet saw fit to release. I understand you found an ancient message encoded in certain specific strands of DNA. DNA Professor Galen had been collecting from planets across the Alpha and Beta quadrants."

"That is correct," Data confirmed. "I, unfortunately, did not have the privilege of witnessing that message myself. But, I have viewed Dr. Crusher's recording of the event. I had not yet installed my emotion chip at that time, but I must admit, even then, I found it quite…moving."

Freja narrowed her eyes.

"But, you are an android," she said. "A machine. Why would a constructed being like you be moved to learn the peoples of our galaxy may share a common genetic inheritance?"

Data smiled very slightly.

"I may stand outside the gene pool, Dr. Anders," he said. "But, I understand kinship…and the desire to ensure one's continuity. That instinct, if you will, is not, necessarily, unique to 'biological' life forms. If you would excuse me…?"

Data edged past her to join the others by the open console, leaving the deeply unsettled Freja Anders staring after him.

"That looked like a pretty intense conversation," Nat said, walking up beside her, his headset dangling from his hand. "What did he say to you?"

Freja shook her head a little, then turned to face him.

"Did you get the images you wanted?"

"I won't really know what I have until we get this equipment back to the compound, and the computers there," he said, and touched her shoulder. "Are you OK?"

"I think," she said softly, clutching his hand, "I think that man is the spookiest thing I have ever faced in my life."

"What did he do?" Nat demanded.

"It's not anything he _does_… It's the way he _is_," she said. "That machine is _alive_, Nat, I have no doubt of it. A breathing, thinking, living..._thing!_ Standing there, he spoke to me of…of kinship and instinct and… And I could sense this _loneliness _in him. A…a sadness, so profound…"

She leaned in close and whispered against his arm.

"Oh, Nat… I think it's absolutely terrifying…"

* * *

Riker stood up from his uncomfortable crouch and stretched his arms above his head. Picard and Tu'Pari were deep into the puzzle of the musical glyphs, and Riker was getting tired of holding the lantern, and craning his neck to peer over their shoulders.

"Hey, Data," he greeted as the android approached. "Did the break help? Are you feeling any better?"

"My power levels have, again, stabilized," he said truthfully, deciding the first officer did not need to know that he still felt uncomfortably weak and irritable, and that the low, pulsing buzz from the omnipresent dampening field was vibrating _incessantly_ in his newly sensitive ears and sinuses, provoking the onset of what he could only describe as a mild headache. "Thank you, for your concern."

"Come on, Data, you don't have to talk like that with me," Riker said.

"Sir?" Data queried.

"We play poker, remember?" Riker said. "And, we both know you haven't quite remastered that stony face you used to pull. Now, what's wrong, really?"

"I am fine," Data insisted. "It's just..."

He sighed, and gave Riker's arm a slight tug, leading him to a fairly sheltered part of the cavern where they could talk in relative privacy.

"I don't think the archaeologists feel...comfortable...around me," he admitted, glancing at Freja Anders. "Which makes me feel terribly awkward around them, especially in these close quarters. But, more than that, I get the impression that they do not _want_ my input. Dr. Tu'Pari in particular has made a point of downplaying my every suggestion so far, and Dr. Kapoor has been making covert recordings when he believes my back is turned..."

He shook his head and looked straight at the commander.

"Why?" he entreated, his amber eyes tight. "If they have an issue with my presence here, why do they not speak to me directly? Why these odd, passive-aggressive behaviors?"

"I don't think it's personal, Data," Riker said. "They've been a team for a long time. From their perspective, we're just a bunch of drop-in strangers."

"Perhaps..."

Data rubbed his gritty forehead, and leaned back against the cavern's rough rock wall.

"Will..." he said. "Do you think I made a terrible mistake, installing my emotion chip?"

"Why are you asking me now, when you know I don't think that at all?"

"I don't know," the android said. "I just...I feel so...so torn. I know this work is of vital importance, I understand why the captain wants me here to help, yet I feel utterly superfluous. Whereas, back at the compound, I _know_ that I am needed. That my input...my presence...is valued, even welcomed—"

He cut himself off, and straightened, glancing over to where Picard and Tu'Pari still had their heads bent over the silvery console.

"My apologies," he said stiffly. "I am being selfish, allowing my personal frustrations to overshadow my purpose here. I am currently running a cypher decryption program, but many of the symbols on that control panel are unknowns, and the musical codes themselves are enormously complex. I—"

"Data..."

"Yes, sir?"

Riker shook his head, and looked the android in his anxious amber eyes.

"Data, my friend, when are you going to learn that it's OK for you to feel what you're feeling? I know you're tired, and I can tell you're frustrated, and it's nothing to apologize for. You know how I know? Because I feel the same way."

Data lowered his gaze, unconvinced.

"Sir, I—"

"Do you think I feel useful here, Data," he asked, "moving equipment around and holding up lanterns? At least you've got that positronic brain. I couldn't crack this code with a mallet."

"A mallet?" Data tilted his head. "But surely..."

His dark eyebrows raised, and his mouth opened in realization.

"Ah! A joke, of course," he said, and smiled, a hint of humor relaxing the tightness around his eyes. "I'm sorry, Will. I think that damn dampener is draining my patience along with my energy. I must admit, that awful buzzing is getting on my last nerve. It makes me feel so oddly...frantic...? Or, would 'frazzled' be a better term?"

"I can't really hear it," Riker said, rubbing at his bearded jaw, "but I know what you mean. There is this constant, subtle sort of vibration, isn't there... I can feel it, way down deep in my ears..."

"It is absolutely maddening," Data said. "I experienced a similar sensation when those Orion kidnappers had me locked in that tiny closet of a cell with Howard, the helpful home domestic." His smile broadened. "Though, perhaps I shouldn't complain. The incessant humming of that forcefield is what gave me the idea that led to our escape."

"Really?" Riker said. "I've been meaning to ask you about that. We didn't have time for much more than a quick debriefing after you got back, and I know it's been your priority to find some help for those kids."

"That is true," Data said. "And, I would be pleased to tell you the whole story. But, with our time here so short, should I not return to—"

"Yes, of course," Riker said. "I didn't mean you should tell me everything right now. But, you mentioned drawing the Orion guard's attention with a song, and I have to ask—"

"It was _The Song That Never Ends_," Data told him. "A rather whimsical, and effective, expression of the concept of endless infinity. Are you familiar with it?"

Riker shook his head a little, trying to cast his memory back...way back, to his earliest childhood...

"God, Data, you know... I think, maybe in preschool, we used to sing a song like that. But now... I can't even remember how it goes."

Data glanced surreptitiously around the little cavern, then cautiously brought a hand to the side of his mouth, looking for all the world like a shy little boy preparing to impart a secret. Softly, very softly, he sang: "_This is the song that doesn't end. Yes, it goes on and on, my friend. Some people started singing it not knowing what it was. And, they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end..."_

"That's right!" Riker said, his eyes widening with wicked amusement. "I remember! _It just goes on and on, my friend..."_

Data joined him, just as amused, and delighted to find the commander playing along. Soon the two had begun to harmonize.

"_Some people started singing it not knowing what it was. And they'll continue singing it forever just because this is the song that doesn't end. Yes, it goes on and on, my friend! Some people started singing it—"_

Data's combadge chirped, and Deanna's spotty voice crinkled through. The two men stopped singing at once, and Data tried to respond to the badly distorted message.

"Counselor?" he said urgently. "Counselor Troi, you are not coming through. Please repeat—"

A terrible rumbling shook the cavern. Data caught Riker before he could topple to the ground, then rushed over to help the others.

"What did you do?" Tu'Pari demanded as the rumbling worsened, his dark eyes burning in his stiffly expressionless face. "What was that song you were singing?"

"Merely a circular rhyme for children," Data said.

"Well, whatever it was, that song did something, Data," Picard said, his own expression wide with wonder. "Look - look there!"

He indicated the etching of the monolith, where a long, dark slit had appeared. It deepened slowly, the opalescent wall panel splitting before their astonished eyes into two massively heavy doors that continued to swing inward as showers of dust and rock poured down from above.

The officers and archaeologists coughed and huddled close while Data did his best to deflect the largest and sharpest of the falling rocks. After what felt like an anxious eternity, the rumbling slowed, then stopped, leaving the little group shaken, cut, bruised, and filthy...and far too awed to care.

"By Surak, and all his teachings..." Tu'Pari intoned, dust and dirt streaming from his hair and shoulders as he rose shakily to his feet.

The wall had opened to reveal a dazzling, ethereal display. Insubstantial images, waves and ripples of light, coalesced to form intricate braids, twisting lattices of stairs and ladders with no apparent beginning or end.

The group only caught a glimpse, a brief impression of power and delicacy, of color and darkness twined together in infinite complexities before the doors slammed shut, the slit disappeared, and the opalescent wall mural stood whole and impenetrable once more.

"No..." Freja gasped, holding out her hand...

"Sing it again," Tu'Pari demanded, his cold black eyes boring into Data's.

"It would do no good," Data said quietly, still deeply shaken by what they'd all just seen.

"Sing it, android," Nat said, moving to the Vulcan's side. "Sing that song exactly as you did before."

"Dr. Tu'Pari, Dr. Kapoor," Data said, struggling to keep his own voice steady and calm. "I do not think that my song alone prompted that wall to open. If you recall, when Captain Kirk encountered a Preserver artifact, it was a combination of vocal intonations and the sound of a communicator that signaled its trap door to open."

"What are you telling us, Data?" Picard asked, standing slowly, then helping Freja to her feet.

"My communicator signaled while Commander Riker and I were singing," Data told him. "But the message was garbled by atmospheric interference. This confluence of sounds, both vocal and mechanical, may be what triggered that wall to open. But, sir, I must report that the tone of Counselor Troi's message was quite urgent. Although I was unable to catch many of her words, I believe she wants us to return to the compound, Captain. Immediately."

"No, not yet," Nat said, his own dirt-streaked features taking on a rather wild look. "We have to try to open those doors again!"

He dashed to the center of the gleaming wall panel, searching desperately with his fingers for any trace of a crack.

"Come on, we did it once!" he cried. "We've _seen _the Preservers' power source! We can't just walk away now!"

"I'm afraid that is exactly what we must do."

Nat turned his fierce, incredulous glare on Tu'Pari.

"You have to be kidding me," he said. "You, of all people—"

But, the Vulcan simply shook his head, standing tall and stoic amidst the fresh piles of rocks and floating dust.

"We know now that it is possible," he said. "However accidentally, the code has been broken. Our task now is to study what has occurred. Only then, when we have gained a greater understanding of this event, will we be properly prepared to try again. And, perhaps, to begin to comprehend the significance of what we all saw here today."

Nat turned away, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

"_Damn _you, Tu'Pari," he growled. "There are times when I truly _hate_ your Vulcan logic!"

"But, he's right, Nat," Freja said gently, her bright yellow hair left dim and dark by the falling dust and fading lantern light. "You know it as well as we do."

Nat swore again and kicked the panel, then turned and nodded.

"All right," he said. "All right, let's pack up our gear and head back home. Somebody find that equipment bag..."

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References Include - TNG: The Chase; The Offspring; Brothers; the movie First Contact; TOS: The Savage Curtain; "The Song That Never Ends," by Norman Martin (1988).  
_

_Please review! :)_


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Dr. Beverly Crusher beamed down from the relative quiet and pacing frustration of the orbiting runabout into the rumbling, juddering chaos of a ground quake. Emergency lights flashed inside the little, domed clinic, children were yelling, but the doctor kept her calm and headed straight for the biobed where a Klingon woman convulsed and thrashed, her monitors bleeping wildly. On the bed beside her, a small human boy lay unconscious, protected from falling, or from any debris, by a force field powered by its own emergency generator.

Dr. Crusher pursed her lips at the sight of him, then turned to face the Klingon, her mask of professionalism firmly in place.

"What have we got?" she asked Troi, both officers recognizing there was no time for friendly greetings.

"Her convulsions started suddenly, before the quake, and they've only gotten worse," Troi reported. "She was shot by an energy weapon and suffered severe internal injuries. We managed to stabilize her, but—"

"It's all right, I've read your reports," Crusher said, her professional eye skimming over the battery-dim computer read-outs. She checked the electronic chart at the foot of the bed, then grabbed a hypospray from her bag, programming in her prescription then pressing the hypo against Kurak's neck.

The Klingon's tense muscles relaxed. She released a very strange sound, like a half-choked sigh, and her head lolled to the side…a line of dark magenta blood trickling from her mouth.

"What's that?" Kahlestra cried, rushing to her mother's side as the ground beneath them continued to shake. "Why is she bleeding?"

"This is Kay, Kurak's daughter," Troi introduced the girl. "Kay, this is Dr. Crusher, the friend Data and I were telling you about."

"Yeah, great," the girl said distractedly. "_Why_ is my mother bleeding? Is it her guts? Her lungs? What's happening!"

"Kay," Troi said, her voice kind, but firm, "you need to get down and go back under your shelter with Ishta. It's too dangerous for you to be standing while—"

"That shelter's just a stupid fold-out table you pushed against the inner wall," Kahlestra snapped. "If you can stand, so can I. What can I do to help?"

"To tell you the truth, Kay, the best thing you can do right now is keep yourself from getting hurt, so I can concentrate on helping your mother," Dr. Crusher said, meeting the girl's eyes.

"But the blood—!"

"It seems your mother bit her tongue during the convulsions," Crusher told her as she continued her examination. "It looks a lot worse than it is. Now please, do as Counselor Troi said. My job is to help your mother. Yours is to keep yourself safe and under cover until this shaking stops. Can you do that for me, Kay? For your mother?"

Kahlestra bared her teeth in a snarl.

"Fine!" she growled. "But, I'm not stupid, and I won't be lied to! Not by you or any grown-up!"

"Then we understand each other," Crusher said, offering her a little smile.

Kahlestra snorted, but crawled back under the table and placed a hand on its vibrating leg, in case the shaking caused the table to shift or slide away. Ishta had buried herself in her hair, her green hands folded tightly over the back of her head and neck.

"Some vacation spot you picked," Crusher quipped to Troi as the pair of them worked together to change the unconscious Kurak into a surgical gown, then position a surgical hood over the biobed.

"I just hope Howard can keep those battery back-ups working," Troi said anxiously. "We had some trouble during the last sandstorm."

"Howard?" Crusher raised a curious eyebrow.

"He's Master Data's handy, helpful robot," Troi said, indicating the busy, metallic-green robot with her head. At the look Crusher shot her, the counselor almost smiled.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll explain later."

"I'll hold you to that," the doctor promised, already preoccupied with her preparatory scans.

* * *

The desert heat and blinding sun felt planets away from the humid, musty, dusty dark inside the tunnels.

Data slipped on his shades, stretched out his arms and breathed in the dry air, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. Away from that awful, buzzing dampening field, he felt as though a literal weight had been lifted from his head and shoulders, and the physical relief made a significant improvement to his mood.

"You should wear a hat, Data," Riker suggested, donning his own hat and sun-protector shades. "Then again – does this new skin of yours burn? You know…the blistering, the peeling…"

"It is vulnerable to sun damage," Data said. "But, for my new skin to experience severe sunburn, in the way you mean, I would have to come within approximately thirty-six million miles of the star in question without the protection afforded by a planetary atmosphere or space craft."

"Thirty-six million…" Freja wrinkled her brow. "That's Mercury's distance from the sun."

"Just about," Data said, and smiled. Then, his smile vanished and he stepped closer to her.

"So," he said. "When do you and Dr. Kapoor intend to let me in on your secret?"

Freja's eyes widened and she turned to Nat, but he was already speaking.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about those covert recordings you were making back in the cavern," Data said. "You must remember. After all, it was your idea to send Dr. Anders over to distract me with conversation while you were recording, was it not?"

Nat snorted and rolled his eyes behind his own protective shades.

"I don't have to listen to—"

"You wanted to see if the holovid would show the same peculiar wave pattern with me as it does when you point the recorder at a biological humanoid," Data spoke over him, his amber eyes fixed and steady. "I understand there is no such effect when you aim your recorder at rocks and electronic equipment. So, naturally, I am curious. Does your recording show this odd wave distortion when you record me behind my back, or does the distortion only occur when you do so to my human colleagues?"

"Mr. Data," Picard started to reprimand, but Nat sucked in his cheeks and turned his head away.

"Fine," he snapped. "You caught me, android. Yes, I was recording you and, yes, I did ask Freja to help. As for those strange wave distortions… I honestly won't know until we play back the recording on the computers back in the control room."

"Have you come up with a theory to explain these distortions?" Picard asked curiously.

"Quantum probability waves," Tu'Pari said, standing rather stiffly under his own hat and shades.

Nat shot him a very dirty look, but the Vulcan didn't flinch.

Freja reached for his arm.

"Nat…" she prompted. "Given what's happened, maybe we should explain what—"

"All right, all right!" the human scientist said, and held up his hands. "Look, we didn't mean to lie or anything. It's just…this is _our_ work, you know? Our _job_, not some recreation or hobby or…"

He closed his eyes and tried again.

"Sorry," he said, looking at Picard. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just, we didn't know you, and—"

"I think I can understand how you've been feeling," Picard said. "When we requested to spend these two weeks touring these ruins, we had no way of knowing how close you were to a breakthrough – especially a finding of this magnitude! _Mon dieu_—! What we just saw—"

"What we saw, Captain," Tu'Pari said flatly, "was a brief glimpse of what Kurak, Dr. Baker, and I have long suspected to be the true function and purpose of the Stairway. If you Starfleet officers are willing to work with us in a volunteer capacity as, judging from your actions back there, I now believe you are, we will tell you our theory – and why this find presents a far greater threat to the current balance of power in this galaxy than you could possibly envision at this point."

Riker raised his eyebrows over his shades.

"And they say Vulcans don't exaggerate."

"I assure you, Commander, this is no exaggeration," Tu'Pari stated. "Whatever value you imagined outside agents may have placed on this energy source, its true function is worth exponentially more."

"Well," Data said. "I'm intrigued. I am also relieved. I was starting to take your reticent attitudes personally."

"It's not that we didn't trust you, Commander," Freja told him, her dirt-streaked face cracking into a slight, awkward smile. "It's just that we didn't trust you."

Data narrowed his eyes, then his eyebrows lifted and he broke out with a laugh. Freja moved closer to Nat.

"Ah – I get it!" Data said. "And I, too, understand. But, I believe I speak for each of my friends when I say you have nothing to fear from us. We did not come to take over your research here, only to learn, and to help. If you will let us."

"Besides," Picard said. "If this find is as potentially threatening as you say, you may find you need our support, and the protection afforded by Starfleet."

"I'm afraid the way this trip's been going so far, that'll be sooner rather than later," Riker added.

Freja shared an uncomfortable look with Nat. Tu'Pari straightened his posture.

Picard observed their discomfort, and pursed his lips.

"I know feelings are running high," he said, "particularly after what we just experienced. I suggest we all head back to the compound, get cleaned up, then meet again after lunch in the control room to discuss our results with clearer, cooler heads. In the meantime, Dr. Crusher's runabout should be due quite soon and I, for one, don't particularly wish to greet her looking like this."

The little group glanced around at their torn clothes, scraped-up hands, elbows and knees, and filthy dust-and-dirt-streaked faces, and all but Picard and Tu'Pari started to snicker, the heavy mood lightening to something almost resembling camaraderie as they headed back through the wind and sand toward the sheltered compound.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References Include - TNG: Ethics and the movies Generations and First Contact.  
_

_Coming Up: Social complications only increase for Data once Kurak wakes up. Will he be able to navigate these tricky social waters without capsizing, or being forced to cast his young friends adrift? _

_Your communication and feedback helps keep me from getting lost in my own head. Thank you, and Please Review! :)_


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Data rubbed the two brushes together until the gel was well distributed between them, glanced at his reflection in the mirror, then proceeded to precisely and meticulously brush his unruly, freshly showered hair back into its accustomed style.

"And the doctor actually had to cut her open!" Kahlestra prattled beside him as he brushed. "The whole clinic was shaking, the lights were going on and off, but it was like she didn't even notice. She focused her mind, did her duty, and that was that – just like Kahless would have done!"

Kahlestra flopped down on her cot, laced her fingers under her head, and stared up at the metallic, domed ceiling.

"Maybe that's what I'll be when I grow up," she said.

"Kahless?" Data teased.

"No," Kahlestra retorted. "A surgeon! Maybe even a Starfleet surgeon. I mean – cutting into people, not to kill them, but so they can keep living! It's got to be one of the coolest things I ever saw!"

"I am delighted by your enthusiasm, Kay," Data said, setting down his brushes and giving his appearance a final, critical inspection before turning to face her. "I am certain Dr. Crusher would feel quite gratified to know she has made such a positive impression on you. I take it your mother is now recovering?"

"She's still asleep, but yeah," Kahlestra said. "I know it's awful to say this, but I almost wish she'll stay that way. Unconscious, I mean, not injured. No way she'll let us talk like this when she wakes up."

Data tilted his head.

"Why not?"

Kahlestra sighed, and crossed one leg over her raised knee.

"It's complicated…" she muttered.

"If you explain the situation, perhaps I can help," Data offered, pulling his newly replicated brown vest over his cream-colored shirt, then sitting on the cot opposite hers.

Kahlestra turned her head away.

"It has to do with the divorce," she mumbled, and sat up, her face still turned to the wall. "I was practically a baby when she left my father's House, and of course no one ever tells me anything, but I do know my father only lets me live with her because she made a vow before the court to raise me in strict accordance with his Family's 'traditional Klingon values.' I hate it, and I know she hates it too. But, she won't fight back!"

Kahlestra growled low in her throat, then pounded her fist against the wall.

"I _despise_ her for that!" she cried.

"What is so disagreeable about these 'traditional Klingon values'?" Data asked.

Kahlestra shuddered angrily and shook her head.

"I don't want to talk about it," she grumbled, and sat up. "Not now, OK? Because, if I start talking about it I'll get angry, and if I get angry I might scream and, if I scream, she might hear me and wake up and I'm not ready for her to lock me in a room with my stupid homework just yet."

Data raised his eyebrows.

"Surely, your mother would not lock you in a room," he said.

Kahlestra snorted.

"You don't know her," she said, and slid off the cot.

"Data?" she asked.

"Yes, Kay?"

Kahlestra regarded him closely, as if considering a rather weighty decision.

"I…" She hesitated, then tried again. "I was just thinking. Because, my mother doesn't know I know this… But, I asked at school once, and there is a way to get around the—"

The sliding doors opened, and Ishta stormed through.

"You clean now?" she asked Data.

"Yes," he said. "But, Ishta, when you interrupt—"

"All dressed and decent?"

"You can see that I am." Data frowned at her in confusion. "Ishta, what—?"

"I want a new outfit," Ishta told him. "And a hairbrush. Like you promised me last night."

Data regarded her, rather nonplussed by her demanding tone.

"You showed very little interest when I made that offer."

"Well, I'm interested now!" Ishta snapped. "Will you help or what?"

Data's lips tightened.

"Right," he said, and stood up. "Let's start this again. Hello, Ishta. Kay and I were just having a conversation. If you would care to wait, I can be with you in—"

"Actually," Kay interrupted, "it's OK. It was a dumb thought, anyway."

"Kay, if something is upsetting you—"

"No, I'm fine, really," she said. "Thanks anyway, Data."

"If you say so…" Data said, his expression deeply puzzled as he watched the girl walk out of the room.

"Well?" Ishta demanded impatiently.

Data returned his eyes to the scowling young Orion.

"Can you describe specific criteria for the apparel you wish to replicate?" he asked her.

"I'll tell you what I want when we get to the replicator," she said, and led the way out of the room. "The good one you fixed up in the cafeteria. Come on!"

Data shook his head, then took a last glance at himself in the mirror, fastening his vest and neatly smoothing a few errant strands of hair back into place as he walked out after her.

* * *

"She called me a 'poor thing'!" Ishta protested angrily as she picked the tangles from her long, black hair with the hairbrush Data had replicated for her. "Said I reminded her of some old rag doll she had when she was a child."

"Who said this?" Data asked, taking the newly replicated boots from the replicator's shelf and carrying them over to her.

"Your prissy, pinch-faced doctor friend!" Ishta snapped, flipping her hair back behind her shoulders and taking the boots. "She said it to that half-Betazoid shrink-woman you stuck us with when you went down into those stupid tunnels. But, I heard her, and I knew what she meant."

She scowled and jammed her socked feet into the boots.

"I won't be pitied. Not ever. Especially not by some fancy Fed doctor like her!"

"I am certain she meant no offense," Data told her. "Dr. Crusher is one of the kindest, most—"

"I don't care!" Ishta cried. "I'm not some pathetic, beat up little doll! I am Ishta! That is what I want that doctor-woman to see!"

Data nodded slowly, his expression contemplative.

"Is the fit acceptable?" he asked regarding the boots as she stalked up and down the cafeteria.

"Yeah, they'll do," she said, and spun sharply in place, her hair and skirt twirling around, then back as she said, "How do I look?"

Ishta had exchanged her torn, stained and battered rags for sturdy black leggings and boots, a blue turtleneck, and a knee-length cranberry jumper dress with gold trim that managed to simultaneously conceal and compliment her willowy figure.

Data cupped his chin.

"You wish me to offer an honest opinion?"

Ishta buried her face behind her hands.

"Deities, is it that bad?"

Data chuckled fondly.

"Not at all," he said. "I believe this new skin suits you quite well."

Ishta snorted.

"Oh, ha ha," she snarked, but her blue eyes were vulnerable when she glanced up at him.

"You really mean that?"

"I do," Data assured her. "You look like Ishta."

The young Orion's guarded expression opened wide, her sharp features softening as she blushed happily. On impulse, she rushed Data with a hug, but pulled away before he could hug her back.

"Will you help me braid my hair?" she asked, sniffing a little, then clearing her throat.

"Of course," he said, and picked up her hairbrush and a black elastic. Within a minute, the braid was complete, and Ishta pulled it over her shoulder for inspection.

"My mother used to braid my hair, when I was small," she said. "Your braid's better."

"Thank you," he said, and smiled. "Shall we join the others in the main building now? They should still be eating lunch."

"Yeah, I guess," she said. "Data… Can I ask you a question?"

"You may ask me anything, Ishta," he told her.

Ishta swung her foot back and forth, then asked: "Do Federation people…dance?"

Data grinned.

"Indeed, we do," he said.

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely," he said. "In fact, back on my old ship, I once devised a comprehensive dance course for the holodeck, incorporating music from across the Alpha and Beta quadrants and featuring some very interesting partners."

"So…you dance?"

"I do," Data said.

"You're telling me that you," she gestured to his rather stiff, upright posture, "can dance."

"Quite proficiently."

Ishta quirked an eyebrow.

"Prove it," she said.

"You first," he shot back, his grin turning a little wicked. "After all, since you introduced this subject, I must assume you find it to be of some personal interest."

Ishta averted her eyes.

"Maybe I used to," she admitted. "A long time ago. It was just stupid kid stuff."

Data regarded her expression.

"Somehow," he observed gently, "I don't think you fully believe that."

"What do you know?" she snapped, and stalked toward the cafeteria table.

"Did you used to dance, Ishta?" he asked quietly.

"I wanted to," she said, her back still turned to him. "When I was six… Dancing… It was a way _out_! It seemed like…like this magical life. Good food, beautiful costumes…"

She sighed, and sat on the bench.

"Orions take dance very seriously," she said. "Top stars can write their own ticket at the high-end slave markets. That's how my mother got started."

"Are the dancers slaves, then?" Data asked uncomfortably.

"Most of them," Ishta said. "The producers and directors hand pick the best of the best for their productions. The dancers are trained from age six to work hard and follow their masters' instructions. If a top performer gets famous enough, they can use popular demand as a bargaining chip. Many of them bargain for a cut of the ticket money, then use that money to buy their freedom. Some continue performing after that, or try different careers, but most put themselves on the market to hook wealthy buyers. Like my mother did."

"Is that why you did not become a dancer?"

Ishta fiercely shook her head.

"Too independent-minded," she growled. "That's what they said. Like it's some awful crime to even have a mind, let alone opinions of your own!"

She shivered a little, then turned to face him.

"I was a good dancer," she said. "Better than the brat kids they did pick – and they knew it! But, they threw me away – back to the slave market, and then to the Skins…" She snarled, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "They rejected me. And, now I'm way too old for training…"

"Ridiculous," Data said. "You are only fourteen."

Ishta grunted in exasperation, and buried her face in her hands.

"Why do I even say anything to you Feds," she muttered.

"Ishta," Data said, "I can see this means a great deal to you. It is understandable if you are frightened. But, if you do not try—"

"And, there it is!" Ishta exclaimed. "That stupid Fed optimism! 'Anything's possible if you just believe hard enough.' Well, it's not, OK? Because, it's not just you who has to believe. It's all those gatekeepers out there whose entire job in life is to keep you out!"

Data blinked, her words striking a surprisingly deep chord within him. But, rather than analyze the unsettling sensation, Data kept his mind on the topic at hand.

"You can dance for fun, you know," he said. "And for the exercise. It does not have to be your career."

"Whatever," Ishta mumbled. "Look, let's just go, OK? Forget I said anything."

"Ishta—"

"No!" she snapped. "I don't want to talk anymore."

"Then don't talk," he said. "Dancers express their feelings through movement."

"I told you, I'm not a dancer—"

"Neither am I," Data said. "But, I can do this."

He broke into a quick series of tap steps, ending with a neat spin.

Ishta raised a wry eyebrow, but couldn't hide her impressed surprise.

"Your turn," he challenged. "Show me what you've got."

The girl gave a dark, world-weary sigh, but lifted her arms into a graceful pose. Slowly, she arched her back, then whipped her body around, her toes sliding into a ballet-like position before she set off leaping and spinning, her frustrations and angry fears translating into quick, athletic kicks, dives, and jumps. She leaped high, performing a startling split in mid-air, then turned her landing into an elegant spin that grew lower and lower until she ended on her back with one leg in the air. She stopped short, then rolled backwards, finishing with her knees on the ground and her arms crossed over her chest.

She held out a hand, and Data moved to take it, helping her rise to her feet.

"I know," she said, before he could speak. "I suck. But, you're not going to say that."

"No," Data said. "You are unpracticed. But your timing and instincts are good, and you have a natural grace any observer would find quite striking. I think you should show Dr. Crusher what you can do."

"That fancy-pants doctor!" Ishta scorned. "What the hell for?"

"Dr. Crusher is the one who taught me to dance," Data said. "She is quite proficient. If you are interested, she may even be able to advise you regarding dance schools and performance troupes. She is certainly better informed on these matters than I am."

Ishta scowled at him.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you," she said.

"Because I believe that you should follow your interests?" he asked.

"Because you think it matters."

"You matter, Ishta," he said, staring right into her eyes. "You matter to me."

"And I should hate you for that," Ishta said, turning her eyes away.

Data sighed, and pulled her into a warm, half-embrace, which she slowly returned, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

"Yep," she mumbled into his arm. "I totally hate you."

"I know," he said, and gave her a fond little squeeze. "But, we should go. Lunch will be nearly over by now."

"Data?" she asked, looking up at his face.

"Yes, Ishta?"

"When this is over, and you go back to your ship…will you think of me?"

"I will," Data said. "And, I would hope that we would stay in contact."

"Data?"

"Yes, Ishta?"

She caught a sniffle with her sleeve and swallowed hard, clinging to him as she pressed her head even deeper into his shoulder.

"I can't stand how much I'm going to miss you."

Data pursed his lips, then he smoothed back her hair, a peculiar inner ache tightening his chest.

"I will miss you too," he said, surprised by the slight roughness in his voice. "But, the _Enterprise-E_ is not a family ship. Even if it were..."

He stopped, the memories of his daughter Lal and Starfleet's cold response to the android's earnest attempt at fatherhood threatening to overwhelm him. Yet, somehow, Ishta seemed to understand.

"Fed authorities probably wouldn't let a metal man adopt a meat kid, huh," she said. "Let alone two, or three."

"It would be...difficult," Data admitted, realizing that was an understatement.

"Well," Ishta said dryly. "Isn't the universe just full of bigots, jerks, and bastards."

"Not entirely," Data said, and Ishta punched his arm.

"Idiot," she said.

"Cynic," he retorted, and she smiled.

"You sure I look OK in this?" she asked, giving her skirt a little twirl.

"You look like what you are," Data told her. "A sharp, sweet, talented girl I am proud to call my friend."

Ishta's eyes widened.

"Dieties," she said. "You actually mean that."

"I do," he said, and offered her his arm. "Would you now do me the honor of allowing me to escort you to lunch?"

"Only if you don't expect me to return those compliments."

"I would expect no such thing."

"Then, I'll accept," she said, and squeezed his hand in hers.

"Hey...Data?" she said as they stepped through the sliding doors.

"Yes?"

She lowered her eyes.

"Thank you for the new outfit. I...I've never had new clothes before, and these..." She swallowed, embarrassed, and shrugged a little. "Well, thank you."

Data's expression warmed, and he nodded.

"You are most welcome, Ishta," he said and squeezed her hand back, allowing himself to imagine - just for a fraction of a moment - what his life might be like if adoption was a viable option for an android officer, and he really did have the chance to be a father again...

_0.68 seconds...0.69..._

* * *

"Then, it's possible the quake we experienced here was actually caused by that wall opening underneath the Stairway?" Crusher said as she finished the last bite of her sandwich.

"I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly what the readings show," Nat said around his own mouthful.

Picard nodded thoughtfully, and glanced at Tu'Pari.

"I'd be curious as to whether this new finding has any bearing on the increased frequency of the quakes this region has been experiencing lately," he said.

"Yes," Troi said, setting her drink down on the control room's little conference table, "But, what troubles me is that Kurak's bio-monitors cut out _before_ the tremors started."

She creased her forehead, her gaze seeming to turn inward.

"No, it's more than that," she said. "Just before the quake, I had the strangest feeling… It was as though we were being watched. But, there was no one there – at least, no one I could see."

"Well, you are empathic, isn't that right?" Freja said. "Maybe it was a premonition…a sense that the quake was coming?"

Troi shook her head, just slightly.

"I don't know…"

The doors slid open and Ishta walked in, with Data just behind. Riker smiled a greeting from the table and said, "Hey, we saved you two some sandwiches. Come grab a seat."

"Thank you, Will," Data said, heading for the nearly empty sandwich platter. "Hello, everyone."

"Hello, Data," Troi greeted. "That vest looks quite flattering on you."

Data smiled and straightened his posture.

"Ishta and I decided to update our wardrobe," he said. "I am pleased you approve of my selection."

Crusher narrowed her eyes curiously, looking like she was about to ask a question, but Freja's gasp diverted everyone's attention.

"Oh my…" she said, bringing her hands to her mouth. "Is that really Ishta? Oh, what an adorable dress!"

Ishta scowled and picked at her skirt.

"Whatever," she muttered, grabbing a sandwich, some apple slices, and a bottle of milk and flopping onto the seat next to Kahlestra, who pretended to sniff the air.

"Well, you certainly smell better now," she teased. "What happened to that torn up old sack you were wearing?"

The Orion growled and bared her teeth at the Klingon.

Kahlestra rolled her eyes.

"Sheesh, I was only teasing. Seriously, though, you look a lot better with your hair back. First time I've actually seen your whole face."

Ishta scowled and scrubbed her fingers through her neatly brushed-back hair until her long bangs came loose from the braid and fell over her eyes and forehead.

"OK…" the Klingon drawled. "I guess that works too."

Ishta grunted and took a bite of her sandwich.

Crusher raised a bemused eyebrow and shared a glance with Troi, who had to cover a smile with her hand. She looked up and gestured to Data, who was just setting his folding chair down beside the two girls.

"Data, why don't you sit here," she invited, scooting her chair over to make more room. "Beverly's been wanting to talk with you."

"Very well, Counselor," he said and politely excused himself, carrying his chair and plate to the other end of the table. "Hello, Doctor. Welcome to Nineveh IV. I understand your arrival was quite eventful."

"I admit, it's not every day I'm expected to perform surgery during a ground quake," Crusher said wryly. "Fortunately, the patient pulled through just fine."

"Have you yet had a chance to examine Mikey?" Data asked anxiously.

"Only a cursory check," Crusher said, rather grimly. "Once the runabout lands, I'd appreciate it if you could help me transfer the boy to the ship's sickbay."

"It was my intent to do so," Data said, and Crusher smiled.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she said, "but there's something different about you, Data. It could be the vest – I've so rarely seen you without your uniform."

Data regarded her, his head slightly tilted.

"Are you teasing me, Doctor?" he asked.

"Never!" she said playfully. "I'll admit, when Deanna first told me about your upgrade I wasn't quite sure what to expect. But, now that I've seen you, I think it works. In fact, I might go so far as to say you look more yourself now than before you left the ship. The eyes in particular seem more…well…_you_."

Data's forehead creased.

"More…_me_?"

The women laughed, and Troi patted the android's arm.

"Consider it an observation on how well you've managed to keep that promise you made to yourself at the start of this trip," she said. "To let yourself _be_ yourself. No hiding."

Data's pale face flushed and he glanced down at his twiddling thumbs.

Dr. Crusher's eyebrows raised at the new sight, but she managed to keep her expression suitably sympathetic.

"Don't be shy, Data," she said. "That's a good goal to set. In fact, it's probably something we should all give a little more thought to."

She offered him a little smile, which he gradually returned.

"But I want to hear more about these adventures you've been having," she said. "Deanna tells me you were kidnapped by Orions?"

"That is correct, Doctor," Data said, "but it is a long story. Do you think we have time before the runabout arrives?"

"If we're interrupted, you can always tell me the rest later," she told him, and he shrugged his acknowledgement.

"Very well," he said. "But the story is not just mine to tell. Kay and Ishta each played an instrumental role in our escape, as did Mikey and Howard. In fact, I—"

"_USS Blackstone_ to Dr. Crusher," came the runabout pilot's voice. "Landing permission has been confirmed and finalized. I am beginning my descent."

"Acknowledged, Lieutenant," Crusher said and stood. "Well, Data, it looks like that story will have to wait after all. Let's get your little friend ready to move."

"Right away, Doctor. Please, excuse us," Data said to the group, taking his sandwich and following her out the door.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References Include - TNG: Hero Worship; Data's Day; The Game; The Offspring; and the movie First Contact  
_

_Next Time: Kurak regains consciousness and Data and Mikey share a moment before heading for the runabout. Will Dr. Crusher be able to help him? Stay Tuned!_

_NOTE: In DS9, runabouts were named after Earth rivers. I named this one after the Blackstone River that runs through Pawtucket, RI and provided power for Slater Mill, the first successful cotton-spinning mill in the US and the birthplace of the American Industrial Revolution (and one of the first school field trips I ever went on. I remember the waterfall best!) :)_

_Until next time! Thanks so much for reading! Your comments are always welcome! :D  
_


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

FRESH UPDATE, HOT OFF THE KEYBOARD! HAPPY NEW YEAR! :D

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The soft sounds of biomonitors bleeped and hummed in the dimly lit little clinic. Kurak lay sleeping; her long, wavy hair spread over the pillow and a silver-blue blanket tucked over her shoulders. But, Mikey was wide awake.

"Data!" he cheered happily, sitting up on his biobed as the android strode to his side. "You're back! Howard was just telling me how there was a quake while you were gone. Then, Kay's mom started thrashing around and the doctor had to come and do surgery on her and—" He shook his head. "I can't believe I slept through all that! Those must be some tranquilizers that Freja lady gave me!"

"Indeed?"

"Oh yeah," Mikey said. "She gave me some pretty good painkillers too. Way better than that Cardassian stuff."

"Hm…" Data knit his eyebrows. "Well, in any event, I am pleased you were able to get some rest."

He looked over to Howard, who was efficiently attending the control panels.

"Howard," he said, "Counselor Troi tells me that you have been very helpful here."

"I am Howard: Your Helpful Home Domestic Droid," Howard told him in his chipper way. "I am here to serve."

"And you are doing quite well," Data said. "Thank you, Howard."

"My orders are to monitor the woman and the boy," Howard said. "I am here to keep them safe."

"Yes," Data said, rather bemused by the robot's unflaggingly one-note attitude. "Well, the boy will be coming with me. But, I will need you to keep monitoring Kurak."

"I am here to serve," Howard acknowledged, and fixed his glowing photoelectric cells on the monitor panel.

Data shook his head, and turned his slight smile to Mikey.

"The runabout has landed," he said. "Dr. Crusher is getting the sickbay ready for you."

"What?" Mikey straightened. "Oh…I mean, it's here already? That was quick."

Data offered the boy his hand.

"Shall we go?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Mikey's eyes flicked to his hands, which were wringing and twisting the bed's silvery blanket like a wet rag.

"Mikey?" Data inquired with some concern. "Are you all right? Your body language indicates that you are feeling…hesitance? Trepidation?"

"No," Mikey said. "I'm not scared. It's just…"

"What is it, Mikey?" Data asked, sitting down beside him on the biobed. "You can tell me."

Mikey roughly shook his head, then leaned into Data's shoulder, clinging to him with all his strength.

"I'm sorry," Mikey sobbed. "I'm sorry."

"What have you to be sorry about?" Data asked him.

"I shouldn't have come here," the boy mumbled, his grip starting to loosen. "I shouldn't have followed you and Kay when you broke out of that Skin dump. Now, everyone's going through all this trouble and it's all my stupid fault!"

"Mikey…?" Data placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to see his face. "I do not quite understand what you are—"

"I wish I _was_ an android!" Mikey snapped, keeping his head down as he roughly wiped his eyes. "Or, a robot, like Howard. Then you could be the one to fix me, and I wouldn't ever even need a sickbay, or any cancer doctor!"

"I appreciate your faith in me," Data said, rather sadly. "But, you must know that you are in better hands with Dr. Crusher."

"I've been so much trouble to everyone," Mikey cried, burying his face in Data's shoulder. "Ishta's right. You got a smart, Starfleet doctor to bring a ship all the way to this dustbowl planet just because she's your friend, when everyone knows I'm just going to die anyway. And then…"

Mikey pulled away and turned his head, hiding his reddened face from view.

"I keep thinking how…how I should have died back in those caves. How that would have been better. How, if I hadn't followed you…"

He wiped his sniffles on his sleeve and mumbled miserably into his medical gown.

"I mean…I've known I'm dying for a long time. My family is dead. I was going to die too. OK. No big deal. Because, you see, no one cared before. No one was bothered. One less mouth to feed, one less Skin to lug to market. And then… Then, I met Kay, and you, and…you care. And, now…when I die…"

He closed his eyes against his tears and sniffled, hard.

"I don't want you to be sad, Data, or Kay," he said. "I don't want _anyone_ to miss me. I know what that's like, to miss people, and…" He shook his head. "That's why I'm scared now…and I wasn't scared before…"

"You know, Mikey," Data said. "It may anger Ishta to learn this, but she does not know everything. Dr. Crusher believes there is a very good chance that you will—"

"Dr. Crusher doesn't know what I _feel_," Mikey said, and leaned back against his pillow, his expression turned inward.

"What do you feel?" Data asked quietly.

Mikey regarded him, then swallowed and turned his eyes away.

"It's like, I'm in two pieces," he said. "There's the _me_ part, you know? The part that thinks and hums and remembers… And, then there's the sick part. The sick part is everything else. Used to be, most of the time, the _me_ part could control the sick part; keep it quiet, under wraps. But…"

He sighed and looked back at Data.

"I can't do it anymore," he admitted. "The sick part just keeps getting stronger. Before you came, I thought it would take me over. Then Kay attacked those Orion guards, and you asked us to trust you, to follow you out of that awful place and… It was like, the _me _part woke up again. And, I knew it was wrong, that I didn't have a chance, but I had to go with you. I had to try…"

"Come here, Mikey," Data said, opening his arms and gently pulling the boy into a hug. "Come here."

He looked down into Mikey's tearful eyes, and affectionately brushed the hair from his warm forehead.

"What you did was not wrong at all," he said. "Your actions have proven to me that you are very brave, Mikey. Brave enough to hold on to your hope – something too many of the others in that cavern prison had lost. Now, you fear that I will regret taking the time to know you and care about you because you think your life is near its end. Let me assure you, I will not. Knowing you has been my privilege, Mikey. I could never be sad about that."

"You say that now," Mikey mumbled. "But, I've seen what happens. I've seen it over and over… People you love die or get killed and you get so angry and it hurts so much… So, what's the point? What's the point of having hope and being brave and caring about people if we're all just going to die anyway?"

Data's arms tightened around the boy and he closed his eyes, his mind brushing cautiously against a memory he had consciously avoided accessing even before he'd installed his emotion chip.

A memory he only hesitantly opened now.

_…Lal… _

_…Lal… I—_

Data took in a sharp, hitching breath and blinked rapidly, trying to head off the lump in his throat, the tears burning in his eyes…

He'd known it would be like this: that the record in his mind would play out with an emotional overlay he had been incapable of fully processing at the time. Since activating the chip, most of his earlier memories had proven to be emotionally affecting on at least some level.

But, this…

_He stood in the cybernetics lab, back on the _Enterprise-D_, his daughter gently propped within the diagnostic elevator, too weak to balance adequately on her own. He knew she was dying, and that she knew it too. But, he spoke the words just the same… _

_…Lal. I am unable to correct the malfunction… …We must say goodbye now…_

"Data?" Mikey said worriedly, touching the tear tracks on the android's pale face.

Data quickly dried his eyes on his sleeve and gave Mikey's hand a little squeeze.

"You ask, why do we care?" he said a little hoarsely. "This is a question I have often asked myself. Why do I nurture a deep attachment to a cat I know will die in only a handful of years? Why do I endeavor to cultivate close friendships with humans, when I know death will inevitably separate us?"

"Do you know?" Mikey asked him.

Data swallowed, hearing his daughter's voice replaying in his head; seeing her looking up at him, her dark eyes so intense…so _alive_…

…_Father… …I feel…_

He sighed, and brushed Mikey's tousled hair back behind his ears.

"I know my daughter tried to teach me," he said. "A long time ago…"

Mikey smirked a little and leaned back in Data's arms.

"I knew you had to have a kid," he said. "Is she an android, like you?"

"She was," Data said. "Her name was Lal. I constructed her, using myself as a model. We had approximately two weeks together, before catastrophic, pan-systematic cascade failure caused a permanent and irreversible shutdown of her positronic brain."

Mikey sat up, staring into Data's pale face.

"She's dead."

Data nodded and lowered his eyes, his voice growing heavier with each word he spoke.

"It came on suddenly, with very little warning. I tried everything I could…did everything possible to stay ahead of the system failures. But, I could not keep up. The damage was too extensive. In the end, I…"

He swallowed hard, and blinked his reddened eyes.

"I had to tell her that I could not save her. There was nothing I or anyone else could do. But Lal… She knew."

"Was she angry?" Mikey asked.

"No…"

Data frowned a little, his expression distant as he finally allowed the memory to replay in its entirety, recalling the frustration and pain of her loss…the guilt of his inability to protect her…

_…I am unable to correct the malfunction…_

_...I know, Father…_

_…We must say goodbye…_

And then, he accessed her file…the memories he had recovered and downloaded into his own brain before they were lost or corrupted in the system collapse…

_...I feel…_

_…What do you feel, Lal?..._

He heard his voice through her ears, saw his face through her eyes, his white-gold features drawn and blank. And, he _felt_…

_…I love you, Father…_

He felt all that she had felt…

_…I wish I could feel it with you…_

_…I will feel it for both of us…_

Data's throat grew tight and his eyes stung, but when he could speak again his voice was bright with wonder.

"No, she wasn't angry," he realized. "She thanked me for her life…for the time we spent together, and all the opportunities she had to learn… She told me…"

_…I love you, Father…_

"She told me that she loved me," he said. "She said she felt enough love for both of us…"

He looked down at Mikey, his amber eyes shining with much more than tears.

"That is why we care, Mikey," he said. "That is why we hold on to hope, and risk heartbreak again and again. Because the love we share connects us, no matter how long or seemingly final our separation may be. When I think of my dear Lal, I feel the pain of her loss but – more than that – I remember her curiosity, her energy…the feel of her hand holding mine… I had a daughter, Mikey. My daughter loved me, and she loved her life. I could never resent or regret having known her, or treasuring the special connection that developed between us in those short weeks we had together. And, I will never regret knowing you, no matter what happens."

Mikey held on to Data, resting his head against his chest.

"Data?" he said.

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Can I tell you something true?"

Data's lips twitched into a fond little smile.

"Of course you can," he said.

"I used to want to die," Mikey told him. "I used to wait for it…especially at night, when I remembered… What things were like before? When my Dad would sing me to sleep, and my Mom used to let me be the one to plant her little seedlings outside in the vegetable garden… And…after missing them for so long, it got to be like the memories I had were more real than anything real that was going on, you know? Like, the Cardassians and Father and the Orions were just this awful dream I was having, and my family was waiting for me…back in the real world. But…"

"Yes?" Data prompted gently.

Mikey sighed, and burrowed deeper into his arms.

"But, when we started on that trip through the desert?" he said. "It was like, I started to dream ahead, not behind, you know? I started to wonder what tomorrow might be like…what I might be like if I wasn't so sick… And I tried to be like that. And, now…"

He sat up and looked at Data.

"Hope can really suck sometimes," he said. "When you don't have it, nothing matters. But when you do… You have everything to lose, you know?"

Data stared thoughtfully at the boy, nodding slowly.

"I think I do," he said. "Mikey, I believe that—"

"Crusher to Data," his combadge interrupted. "Is everything all right? I have sickbay all ready, if you—"

"Everything is fine, Doctor," Data assured her, giving Mikey a questioning look, which he answered with a determined nod. "Mikey and I are on our way."

"Acknowledged, Data," Crusher said.

Data stood up and opened his arms to the boy, but Mikey shook his head.

"I'm OK," he said. "I want to walk."

"As you wish," Data said, and held out his hand.

Mikey smiled and took it, giving Data's fingers a little squeeze.

"Data?" he said.

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Will you sing to me again…before they make me sleep?"

"Certainly," he said.

"Data?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Will you stay with me while the doctor works?"

"I promise, I will be right by your side."

"Data?"

"Yes, Mikey?"

"Are you scared?"

Data's expression softened, and he crouched down to the boy's eye level.

"I am," he said. "It's all right to feel afraid, Mikey. As you pointed out, there is a great deal at stake here. There is much that could be lost, but far more to gain if Dr. Crusher is successful."

Mikey nodded, and gave the android's hand a stronger squeeze.

"OK," he said. "I'm ready."

* * *

Kurak watched as the android and the human boy walked through the sliding doors, hand in hand. She still felt infuriatingly weak and woozy and far too nauseous to stand…yet, she knew the medications that had been pumped into her system weren't the only thing making her head swim.

"Hey you!" she croaked, and coughed. "Robot!"

"My name is Howard," Howard said cheerily. "How may I serve you?"

"Water," she demanded. "With ice! Who was that man who just left?"

"'That man who just left' is my current de facto owner."

"What's his _name_, idiot?"

"My master's name is Lieutenant Commander Data," Howard told her as he headed across the room to fill her order at the replicator.

"Impossible," Kurak grunted. "Commander Data is a machine. I saw him when I was on the _Enterprise_."

"You are correct," Howard said, handing her a covered cup of ice water and a flexible straw. "Lt. Commander Data is a Soong-type android. Current assignment: Second Officer, USS_ Enterprise-E_."

Kurak sipped the water and cleared her throat.

"Didn't look like _that_ when I saw him," she grunted suspiciously. "Talk like that either. What's his story?"

"Lt. Commander Data is a Soong-type android," Howard repeated in his helpful way. "Current assignment: Second Officer, USS _Enterprise-E._"

"By_ Kahless_," she growled, and threw her cup back at him. "I'd be better off talking to a computer! Where is everyone, anyway? I want to know how long before I can get out of this damned bed!"

"Would you like to summon an emergency contact?" Howard inquired, efficiently retrieving the cup and placing it back on the replicator shelf for dematerialization.

"Call Melinda, Tu'Pari, Nat, Freja, anyone," she snapped. "And, find my daughter! I won't have her ranking in school slip because of this."

"I am here to serve," Howard acknowledged and returned to the console to carry out her demands.

As Kurak fell back against her pillow with a fierce sigh, Silarra watched from her crouched position among the domed ceiling's metal support braces and smiled.

"I think I've gathered enough to get started…" she said to herself, and closed her little holorecording device. "Time to begin setting this plan into motion."

A firm tap on her wrist, and her camouflaged form silently dissolved into silver sparkles, subtle enough for the woozy Klingon below to dismiss as a trick of the light.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References Include - TNG: The Offspring (some direct quotes); Suspicions; Touched By An Angel: Psalm 151 (references primarily derived from a memory of watching this episode with my Grandma. I looked up its title on IMDb)._

Next Time: What's Silarra up to? Will Dr. Crusher be able to help Mikey? Stay Tuned! Thanks so much for your reviews! :D

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think! :D

* * *

P.S.: I just got this 'inspirational e-mail' from a magazine for children's publishing, and I thought it would be nice to pass on the message here in fanfic land 'cause it's the New Year and a good time to reevaluate, reaffirm, and reassert our inspiration, and also because it's something I happen to believe [enough for it to be the central theme of a story I wrote a few years ago: "The Day No One Died"]. :)  
So, here it is:

"As writers, we can often feel frustrated, and even overwhelmed, by our perceived smallness...We wonder whether our efforts truly matter, and whether the world really needs our contributions.

"If we can give you one gift to begin 2017, it would be to erase that sort of thinking from your mind...Because it only takes one reader to be changed and moved by your words for you to set in motion a massive impact on this planet.

"We like to think that big changes in the world happen only by big people doing big things. But that's not true at all. The history of the planet is really the history of the "butterfly effect". Of people with vision inspiring others, who then inspire others.

"You are a critical part of this cycle,and you absolutely cannot give up and break this chain. Your butterfly wings can create a hurricane of humanity, decency and hope. But only if you are willing to fly."

I think this message is particularly relevant to fanfiction writers and fanfiction readers - to all the stories we create and enjoy together. Happy 2017, and thanks so much for reading my stories! :D


	30. Chapter Thirty

_Hi! I got kicked in the throat by this awful paraflu virus thing and I've only just today started to be able to sit up and read again. I've been going nuts listening to old stuff on ancient eight hour tapes taped back when there were tapes 'cause I couldn't get up to change disks. For not being an 'actual' flu this thing's been worse than most of the 'real' flus I've had and that's pretty awful. Still can't talk right, can only stand up for a short time without getting ridiculously dizzy, but I had to write something or scream (which I can't do due to laryngitis), so here's what I could do after working literally all day. :( It was supposed to be the start of Chapter Thirty but will have to settle for being Chapter Thirty until I can finish the rest, which is all patchy and scattered right now because I'm so tired everything blobs out like this blobby blob. Bleb. So, here it is, a short something to prove to myself that I'm still alive and that this awful energy-draining virus hasn't turned my aching brain to total mush. I hope. More on Data, Dr. Crusher, and Mikey's fate coming soon - 'specially if I finally get to get some actual sleep without coughing every three minutes! ...ow... Then, I'll get back to work on "Croaked" and see if I can finally finish "A Different Kind of Ace!" Only a couple more chapters to go on that one. What's left? A huge cake, angry genetic mutants, a space battle, angry genetic mutants, a huge cake... Stay Tuned, and thanks so much for your reviews! They've really helped me feel better! :)_

* * *

Chapter Thirty

Silarra input the final codes, then stood and moved to the back of her small vessel, where there was more space to move around.

"One blink male, two blinks female, move eyes to the left or right to select holo-guise," she muttered to herself, just to make sure she had it straight. Taking a deep breath, she swung her arms to loosen up her back and shoulders, then blinked once, very deliberately moved her eyes to the right three times, and waited for the tickly static tingle as the hard-light holo-image coalesced around her.

"Why, hello Mr. Data," she said to the image looking back at her from the mirror, and stepped forward for a closer inspection. "Hmm…hard to tell he's a machine, even with those eyes… Computer, activate vocal modulator and synch with images."

The computer gave an acknowledging chirp, and Silarra spoke in Data's voice, the computer program ensuring every vocal intonation was an exact match with the recordings she'd made in the compound.

"_Round the rugged rocks the ragged rascals ran_," she pronounced, and smiled. "Perfect."

A few more eye flicks, another staticky tingle, and Picard had taken the android's place in the mirror.

"_What a to-do to die today, at a minute or two to two_," she said in the Starfleet captain's richly rounded tones. "_A thing distinctly hard to say, but harder still to do. For they'll beat a tattoo, at twenty to two, a rat-tat-tat- tat-tat-tat- tat-tat-tattoo. And a dragon will come when he hears the drum, at a minute or two to two today, at a minute or two to two_."

"What the hell is that nonsense?" a voice called out from the front of the ship. "Silarra! Silarra, I want to talk with you!"

The Suliban hissed angrily, made a quick gesture with her fingers, and the holo-guise dropped away, exposing her own stony features.

"What are you doing, calling me here," she demanded irritably, glaring at her caller's face on the main viewscreen. "I told you, Boss-man, you'll get my next report when I give it."

The white-clad figure on the screen was uncomfortably back-lit, making it impossible to clearly distinguish his features or much of anything about his hat and clothes apart from their (lack of) color. Silarra scowled and squinted against the light, knowing full well he did that on purpose – a tactic to disorient both 'friend' and 'foe.'

"Given the amount I'm paying for this job, I don't think these updates are an unreasonable demand," the Boss-man hissed, "especially when I find you in a ship, in orbit, practicing tongue twisters in some ridiculous accent!"

"I know it's hard, Boss, but if you can dredge up a little patience I'll give you an explanation for that," Silarra said. "Shut up and watch this."

With subtle, deftly coordinated movements of her eyes, eyelids, tongue, and hands, the expert chameleon ran through her newly programmed gallery of guises: the Starfleet officers, the archaeologists, the newly arrived Starfleet doctor, her pilot and nurse, and even the three children.

Before she'd made it half-way through her demonstration, the Boss-man was laughing and clapping like a child at a puppet show.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" he cheered. "Next, you'll be passing yourself off as one of their horses." His overlit shadow leaned closer to the screen, and his voice grew cold. "Oh, you do take your time Silarra. But this trick of yours had better pay off. I want the information I sent you for."

Angry frustration twisted inside her, and she snapped, "What the hell do you think I'm doing with these guises? Playing dress-up? I've gone to a lot of trouble to get these recordings! The equipment I use ain't exactly cheap, Boss, and it's hardly basic user interface. It's an art, doing what I do. An art, and a skill. Especially considering they've got that damn android."

"Don't vent your troubles to me," the Boss-man snarled. "Just get me what I want. The sooner the better. The market doesn't run on patience, my dear – and you are hardly my only asset in this matter."

"That a threat, Boss-man?"

"Just a fact," the Boss-man said coyly. "One of those hard, cold facets of life. I will have what's mine with or without you. It's only to your benefit to deliver…on my terms."

Silarra bared her teeth, her pebbly skin turning a vivid, angry green.

"Until our next communication, my dear chameleon," the Boss-man said, his oily voice dripping with menace. "Don't disappoint me."

The screen darkened, and Silarra slammed her fists against the arms of her chair.

"…washed out, back-lit bastard..." she snarled with bitter anger. "I tell him: contact me only through my personal comm unit. So he hacks my ship, like some stupid, schoolyard power play! Computer!" she snapped. "Run another spybug scan, as deep and thorough as possible. Search for bug programs and physical tracers, old and new, starting with the comm system. Encrypt the results under Code Sil1355 - you know the rest. I'll deal with the findings when I get back."

"Acknowledged," the computer chirped, and Silarra stalked to the transporter touch pad at the back of her little craft. She rechecked her emergency failsafes and procedures, then tapped in the planetary coordinates for the Starfleet runabout just outside the archaeologists' compound.

"One last detail…" she said, enduring the static tickle of a guise shift, "and energize!"

_To Be Continued..._

* * *

_References include - TNG: Devil's Due; Red Dwarf: Legion (from which I pinched hard light holograms that can exist outside a hologrid); and a couple of vocal warm up exercises I remember from a public speaking class._

Until next time, thanks so much for your nudges and for your reviews! It means a lot to know you're enjoying my stories. Thanks! :D


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

_Hi everyone! I am, frustratingly, still sick. At this point, it's mostly a lingering cough, mild migraines, and persistent fatigue, but the laryngitis has decided to linger on too and I still can't talk right. Grrr... Your reviews and well wishes have really helped to cheer me up, though, and they encouraged me to keep working on my writing no matter how slow the going. So, here's another piece of a chapter that is going to have to serve as a whole chapter until I get well enough to write long chapters again. :) The last chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter (which I still have to write) were all originally supposed to be part of a single chapter, and I'm saying this because while I was originally planning out that chapter I drew on some suggestions and advice kindly offered to me by kswain art. Bits and trickles from the inspiration I drew from those suggestions start in this chapter but will be more pronounced in the next chapter, so I'll give a more specific credit then, I just wanted to give a thanks here too. :) In the meantime, I hope you'll like this next part and Thank You for reading my stories, and for all your encouraging comments and reviews! :)_

* * *

Chapter Thirty-One

The runabout's sickbay was even smaller and more compact than the clinic, but the scanning equipment was light-years ahead of the basic, collapsible emergency kit that came standard with the archaeologists' temporary, prefab structure.

Dr. Crusher stood before the wall display, her expression somber as she studied images of Mikey's chromosomal DNA and several screens of cancer cell samples she and her head nurse, Lt. Alyssa Ogawa, had collected from the boy. Beside that, a full-body scan highlighted the masses of tumors spread throughout the boy's little body in shades of red, orange, and yellow.

"I haven't seen anything like this since I took that course on Earth's Post-Atomic Horror at the academy," Ogawa said, her forehead wrinkled with compassion. "I remember my reaction when I first saw the images of the mutations and tumors caused by exposure to that much harmful radiation – especially the infants and small children whose bones and organs were still growing, still developing…" She shook her head, as if to clear it. "It's hard to believe such things still go on in this supposedly 'enlightened' age."

"I won't argue," Dr. Crusher said, her anger clear in her voice and posture. "From what I can tell, this boy's been surviving on sheer spit and guile. I've never seen a case so advanced. And, there is no reason for it to have gotten this bad. If this child had been brought to a hospital – any hospital – when he was first diagnosed, a single injection could have cured him! Now…"

"Mikey's condition was left untreated by his captors because he was viewed, not as a being, but as a damaged commodity," Data spoke from Mikey's bedside. "My question to you, Doctor, is can you repair the damage?"

Crusher turned to face him, and her hard expression softened. Even unconscious, Mikey held on to the android's hand – a connection Data seemed unwilling to break even to cross the small distance to the display panel.

The scene reminded the doctor of another boy Data had rescued, years ago. Timothy Harris. Data had pulled the boy from the ruins of the SS _Vico_ after his parents and the rest of the crew were killed in a terrible accident, and the two had quickly formed a strong connection. Impressed by the android's strength and abilities, Timothy had claimed he was an android too, imitating Data's mannerisms, the way he talked, and even his swept-back hairstyle.

Watching them together, Crusher had been amused, but also touched by how naturally Data had carried out his role as the boy's mentor. She remembered how Data had come to her for parenting advice when he created Lal; how concerned he had been that his perceived 'lack' of emotion would impede him from providing his daughter with the love and support he so wished to give.

Now, she was seeing those very emotions in full force on Data's newly 'upgraded' features…anxieties that, as a parent, she knew all too well…

And, it made her heart sink in her chest.

"I wish I could help him, Data," she said. "I truly do. But, the truth is…" She glanced back at the scan. "It doesn't look good. Enlarged liver and spleen, a rapidly failing immune system…tumors on the kidneys, the lungs…another here, near the heart…"

She shook her head, her expression sharpening with frustration.

"I'm afraid the cancer has metastasized too far. Even if I did attempt treatment, at this stage I don't think his system is strong enough to handle the trauma."

"What is the treatment?" Data asked.

"Well, genetic therapy for starters," Crusher said. "That would correct for the genetic mutation that triggered his condition, but it wouldn't be enough to handle all the existing tumors. Unfortunately, when a cancer is this advanced, excising the tumor can too often harm the affected organ more than the tumor itself…"

She raked a hand through her coppery hair and sighed sharply through her nose.

"At this point, I'd say his only hope would be cloned transplants," she said grimly. "And that hope is pretty slim, Data."

Data knit his dark eyebrows and glanced around the compact sickbay, his amber eyes seeming to catalog and analyze everything they saw.

"This facility is equipped for such a procedure," he said. "There is a small adjoining lab, where the required organs and tissues can easily be grown from Mikey's existing stem cells, and the operating theater, though quite compact, does feature the latest—"

"That requires _time_, Data," Crusher told him. "Time this boy doesn't have. Even if he did survive the transplant procedure, the strain would be too much for his body to handle. The recovery could kill him. I'm afraid I can't recommend it."

"That is unacceptable," Data stated, tightening his hold on Mikey's hand.

"That may be," she said, her brows quirked in angry challenge. "But, given the situation, it's all I've got. You're welcome to come up with something better."

Data's eyes grew fixed and focused, then began to move rapidly back and forth, as if reading text only he could see.

"Doctor," he said, his head snapping up. "You say that Mikey needs time. Time for you to prepare the required materials, and time for his body to recover and adapt to the necessary transplants. What if there was a way to provide him that time?"

"What are you suggesting, Data?" Crusher asked warily.

"I am suggesting we place Mikey in temporary stasis, Doctor," Data said.

"Stasis?" Ogawa repeated. "But, we don't have a stasis chamber. And, even if we did, how could we operate _through_ it? Isn't the point of a stasis chamber to place a patient in suspended animation?"

"Yes. But," Data said, his enthusiasm building as the project coalesced in his mind, "I am proposing, not to construct a stasis _chamber_, but a stasis _field _– rather along the lines of a standard, adjustable energy field that can be penetrated by surgical lasers set to a specific frequency. The idea would not be to _freeze _Mikey's systems in time, merely to slow them enough to mitigate the trauma of the surgery as much as possible."

"You can do that?" Ogawa said, her eyes wide.

"I am certain that I could," Data said, and stared straight at Crusher. "With your permission, Doctor."

Crusher regarded him, her own mind beginning to churn over the possibilities until, slowly, she began to nod.

"I see," she said musingly. "What you're suggesting is not dissimilar to a procedure used during the twentieth century to keep stroke or heart attack victims from suffering brain damage due to a lack of oxygen. They would pack the patient in ice to induce hypothermia, lowering the patient's body temperature in an attempt to slow the metabolism as much as possible."

"Only, instead of ice, we'll be using this stasis field," Ogawa said.

"Exactly," Data said. "In theory, we should be able to use the field to control Mikey's metabolism rate during the surgery, monitor his healing process, and adjust as needed to ease the stress to his system while he recovers."

"How long would you need to create this field, Data?" Crusher asked.

"No more than six hours, Doctor," Data told her confidently. "Most of what I require is readily available, but I will have to replicate some tools and supplementary materials."

"All right, Data," Crusher said. "We'll give your idea a try. Alyssa, prepare the lab. If we start now, we should have the transplants ready to use by tomorrow."

"Yes, Doctor," Ogawa said, and strode off to carry out her orders.

Crusher looked to Data.

"That should give you more than enough time to construct and test your stasis field."

"Indeed, it will," Data said, his face breaking into a broad smile as he released Mikey's hand to take hers.

Crusher blinked, surprised both by the gesture, and by how warm – how _human_ – his new skin felt. The detail was incredible…faint blue veins, small freckles, dark hairs at his wrists and knuckles…

She turned her gaze to his warm, amber eyes, the faint shadow of beard bordering his smile…and was struck by a very peculiar twinge. It was unsettlingly similar to the odd feeling she'd had the first time she'd walked in on her son, Wesley, shaving in front of the bathroom mirror: the sudden jolt of understanding that he wasn't her little boy anymore, but a real, separate, grown-up person...

"Thank you, Beverly," Data was saying when she tuned back in. "I understand that this is a long shot, but I want you to know how much I appreciate your efforts, and the positive example you have set for the children just by coming here."

"Why, thank you Data," she said, caught rather off balance by such sincerely spoken compliments…as well as his use of her first name. As far as she could remember, he had only ever called her 'Doctor.' "I just hope you'll feel the same way after tomorrow's operation."

"I have full confidence in your abilities, Doctor," he said, and she knew it wasn't a platitude. "If you will excuse me, I should like to make use of the cafeteria replicator before supper."

Crusher watched as he cast a glance at Mikey, then headed through the sickbay's sliding doors, deeply rattled by what she'd just experienced and resolving to discuss Data's sudden 'upgrade' with Troi, Picard, and Riker as soon as she had the chance. If the changes she'd observed in their android friend had left her reeling, she had to wonder how the others were taking this 'new' Data…and whether his surprising decision to alter his appearance was as impulsive as it seemed.

_To Be Continued…_

* * *

_References include - TNG: Hero Worship; The Offspring; The Game; Journey's End; Encounter At Farpoint.  
_

Thanks again for reading! Please stay tuned and remember, reviews on this or any story tend to cure sickness and kill pain way more effectively than migraine pills. Thank you! :)


	32. On To Part Two!

AUTHOR'S NOTE

To prevent this story from becoming unwieldy, I've decided to divide it into three parts. I know I should have done this at the end of Part I (Chapter 19), but it's a first draft and I'm making things up as I go, including format. :) Eventually, this will be where I post all three parts of the story, once it's finished and cleaned up. But, until then, this story will continue in _Skin Deep: Part II_! Part II of this story begins with Chapter 20, so if you've been reading here and you'd like to go straight on to the next chapter, that'll be Chapter Twelve of _Skin Deep: Part II_.

Thank you so much for reading, your encouragement, and for your amazing reviews! See you in Part II! :D

* * *

[Transferred here from Preamble to Part II]

**A Note of Explanation:** OK, so when I first started this story, I knew it would have three sections but I had no idea how long the story would end up becoming. I still don't, in fact. At this point, I've made it about 2/3 of the way through the second section and the story already has 32 chapters! That's probably a good thing. Especially if people are still reading. ;) But, being an overanxious worrywart, I've been overanxiously overthinking and overthinking, and I overthought that, since this story was designed to have three sections, why not split it up into three sections? That way I won't have to keep giving myself overthinking-induced writers' block about it getting too long, losing energy, losing interest, etc. etc. etc. _and _I can start playing with the third section as a totally separate thing instead of always putting it off as 'for later' notes. To be completely honest, I probably still _will_ give myself overthinking-induced writers' block on a fairly regular basis, but at least splitting the sections up like this will help make this story's unprecedented (for me) length a bit less of a factor for me to worry about. At least, that's the hope. :)

So, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave the ORIGINAL version of _Skin Deep_ that I've written so far AS IS. Eventually, once all three sections are finished first drafts (possibly next year?), I'm going to return to that original version, revise it, tighten it up, smooth it all out (like I recently did to _An Unsung Hero_ and _Belasco's Beatrice)_, then add revised versions of the rest of the chapters to make one very long, completely complete second draft. But, until then, all fresh, new chapters will be posted first here in Part II, then in the upcoming Part III (and yes, Jake Sisko will be part of the story.) :) I know, I know, if I was going to split this story up I should have done it some 12 chapters ago... But hey, this is a totally raw first draft (and yes, it is true that I mostly write out new chapters here in the Edit Document box so I won't lose my nerve and second guess everything I just wrote before posting - I DO NOT recommend that, by the way, since any fluctuation or hiccup with your computer's internet connection when you hit 'Save' will cause you to lose EVERYTHING you just wrote if you forgot to copy/paste it somewhere else first) and first drafts are for messing around and trying things out and figuring out what works and what doesn't and that includes format. So, with sincere apologies for any confusion or irritation, I'll hurry up and re-post the rest of my pre-written Part II chapters, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of my story as it continues to develop and grow! :D


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